


SHIT

by BakaSmurf, The Oldman (Olderestman), xanothos



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 119,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakaSmurf/pseuds/BakaSmurf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olderestman/pseuds/The%20Oldman, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/xanothos
Summary: Lord Trent Blackmore, The Oldman, Xanothos, and BakaSmurf in RWBY as students of Beacon Academy. Shenaniganry liable to ensue.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17





	1. A Good Start...

On the deck of a bullhead slowly approaching Beacon Academy, a lone, dark figure stood out against the blue. Wind whipped past him, lifting the countless belts that made up his ankle-length snakeskin trenchcoat and making it billow ominously behind him.

Samael Obsidian pressed one palm to the top of his wide-brimmed fedora as piss-yellow eyes peered out from beneath it, gazing balefully on the institution of higher learning in the distance. His other hand tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on the empty katana scabbard at his waist as he mused to himself. What kind of experiences would he have, there at that vaunted bastion of heroes and warriors? What manner of people would he meet? Would they revile him like all the rest, or would he—

“Hey!” Came a high-pitched, excitable voice accompanied by a hail of red flower petals which momentarily billowed out before the bullhead before quickly slipping back and practically splattering all over the front windshield overlooking the deck. “Is that a sword scabbard?” the tiny silver-eyed girl asked with a bright, cheerful expression, peeking out from jet black hair rimmed with red highlights as bright as the petals which heralded her arrival. “You’re going to Beacon to become a Huntsman, right? That means you have a weapon, which is why you’d have a scabbard for a sword on your hip, since Huntsmen have to have weapons to hunt Grimm and you’d have one, right?”

Samael blinked slowly and leaned away from the excited, babbling girl garbed in a black, floofy gothic dress accented by red frills and an even redder hooded cloak. “Ah...Erm, yes. I do have a weapon…” He tilted his head slightly to one side, shifting his grip on his fedora as he regarded the girl. “I suppose you want to see it?” He asked dryly.

“Yeah! Yeah! Of course I do! I mean why wouldn’t I, I mean only if you’re okay with it because I don’t wanna be a bother or anything since Yang tells me that I can be a bit much when I’m just meeting new people but I always get so excited whenever I see a new weapon especially one used by Huntsmen and Huntresses since they always have the coolest most amazing and creative weapons you know what I mean?” she ended her word vomit with a squee of delight as she stared outwards at Beacon Academy in the distance, only seeming to realize what she’d done after a few long moments had passed. “Ahem, um, ahaha- I mean, yes please!” she finished with a wide, cheerful smile as she leaned forwards and clasped her hands behind her back.

In spite of his own aura of edginess, Samael couldn’t help but smile as well...not that any looking on could tell, what with the collar of his belt-coat rising all the way to under his eyes.

“Right, right.” He said, doffing his hat and jamming it under his left arm even as he shook out the sleeve of his right. With the rattle of chains, a length of metal slapped into the palm of his hand, attached to black chain-links retreating into the man’s voluminous sleeves. With a flick of his wrist, the metal rod snapped open and folded over itself. A single-edged crimson blade telescoped out from the butterfly knife-like hilt, revealing it to be a meter-length nodachi.

Samael held his weapon out for inspection, point-down. “Desolation Amaterasu is her name.”

At first, only the sound of the wind was audible. Then, slowly, like a rapidly warming teakettle, Samael could hear a low, slight whistling that was very quickly rising in volume. The girl was letting a sustained, gradually building squeal of delight, her eyes practically glowing like silver dollars as she started to vibrate. “So cooooooooooool!” she cried in a pitch that surely only dogs and dog-like beings could hear. “She’s so cool, that’s such a cool name, she looks so cool, she’s all foldy and flicky and swishy and swooshy and I bet she makes the coolest sound when you swing her she does she make a really cool sound when you swing her can she come back when you throw her or fly around or does she have a gun or can she turn into another weapon what else can she do what else can she do!?” the girl practically demanded as she lurched forward and clutched into the front of Samael’s coat, desperation plain in her big, doll-like eyes.

Samael chuckled awkwardly, deeply uncomfortable with the close proximity that the manic girl was in, but not altogether displeased with her company. “W-well,” he hedged, “she does have a ranged form, b-but you’re a bit close for me to show it off…”

“Can I see? Let me see! Can I see? I wanna see!” she cried as she leapt back with inhuman grace, placing at least two metres distance between herself and the significantly taller figure. She was hopping in place atop her toes, encased in tall, black laced combat boots as they were. “Throw her, throw her, I wanna see the sound she makes when she cuts through the aaaaiiiirrr,” she drawled the last word out, clutching at the empty space before her pleadingly.

Wordlessly but amusedly, Samael tossed Desolation Amaterasu into the air, depressing a button on the side of the blade’s hilt as he tossed it. Metal unfolded, refolded, and telescoped as the nodachi blade disappeared and then the two bars of the butterfly hilt became four. Four triangles of crimson metal snapped out to sheathe each of the bars, and then the weapon came spinning back down.

Samael caught the oversized shuriken and turned on his heel, immediately sending it spinning on a lazy arc through the air, the black chain attached to the weapon’s center rushing seemingly endlessly from the layered belts of his sleeve. At the apex of its arc, he twitched his wrist just so, the chain rapidly retracted, and the handle of his weapon snapped back into his palm with a satisfying slap.

Said slap was punctuated by the perky girl jumping and cheering in joy, seemingly over-the-moon at the demonstration occurring before her - Samael’s dark, sinister appearance not seeming to bother her in the absolute least. “That’s so cool, that’s so cool! That’s so cool!” she repeated like a broken record while practically dancing atop her toes as if she were standing barefoot on a bed of coals. “That’s so cool m-”

She stopped dead, blinking owlishly as her head cocked to the side, suddenly deeply lost in thought. The silence was punctuated by a rising cacophony coming from the interior cabin, though at the moment, it was paid little heed.

“Wait… oh no, I don’t know your name I forgot to ask your name oh no oh no Yang and Dad lectured me about this too and everything oh no aaahhh- I’m sorry I’m-” she stopped, took a deep breath, and after taking a moment to collect herself presented her hand with a genial smile. “I’m Ruby! Ruby Rose! Nice to meet you!”

Samael quickly shifted his weapon back to its sword form and slipped it into its scabbard, flipped his fedora onto his head, and took the proffered hand in his own gloved one and shaking it even as the black chain that had been affixed to his blade’s hilt detached and slithered back into his sleeve. “Samael Obsidian. Charmed, I’m sure.”

On another side of the deck, a different figure watched as the tiny child pulled out a massive collapsible scythe, animatedly describing its features with wide motions and swinging the weapon about.

He wore a rawhide poncho filled with colourful eye patterns of varying sizes with green, pink, purple and blue matting their detailed surface, but they were pretty faded, almost as if bleached. The largest of them sat upon his back, covering it completely. A large sombrero with a similar pattern and problem sat upon his head, covering his sunburnt face from the searing rays above.

He raised an eyebrow at the situation unfolding before his eyes, but merely shook his head with a smile; it was a better sort of jubilation, at least compared to what he was used to. About as safe, but without the cruelty. It wasn't his business to butt in, though.

Adjusting his sombrero, he settled into a sitting position and placed his weapon at his side. The fresh, cool wind stung at his skin, but that would pass eventually. This was a better place; no sand, no arid air burning his lungs...it was good. The academy was still a ways off though, so he decided to take a siesta.

As the two others on the deck continued to show off loudly, he thought twice of it, pulling out his old, cracked scroll and queuing up some music. As he hit play, he took out his earbuds and placed them over his ears, wincing as he heard the sound come out as heavily processed static. He gave them a bit of a whack and pressed at their sides hard before they actually gave off the right sound.

He smiled as the familiar guitar strumming played across his ears. He was content, in this moment, for as long as it'd last him.

It was at that point that a blond man stalked out onto the deck, a cacophony of squealing and cooing echoing out from the interior of the Bullhead. Cracking the knuckles of his right hand one by one, the blond sighed as he slid the door closed, his shoulders slumped as he looked around the deck. His gaze drifted over the duo posing at each other, before stopping on the man who was shrouded by his sombrero and poncho.

Ambling over to the sitting man, he gently nudged him with his foot. “S’happening out here, dude?”

The aggressively stereotypical man raised his hat slightly and threw a glance at the two goobers on the other side.

"Weapon showcase, amigo," he answered. "Not much else aside."

“Amigo? My, to think I’d be a friend already,” the first replied, a small smile on his face as he did so. “Well, if we’re friends, I suppose introductions are in order. I’m Trent Blackmore.”

The second gave a laugh, but quickly his face changed to one of confusion under his hat. It couldn't be, right? No, probably not, it was likely just coincidental. What were the odds? He didn't know but thought it likelier to find a specific grain of sand in the middle of Vacuo.

"Ichabod Sable," he answered. "Nice to meetcha."

“Glad to make your acquaintance then, Ichabod,” Trent remarked falling into a squat, feet perfectly flat on the ground with his elbows on his knees. “So, d’you come out here to escape the horseshit going on in the cabin?”

"Nah, came here a while back, wanted to get some air," Ichabod remarked as he paused his music. "I just heard it when you opened the door though. Fuck's even happening there?"

“All the girls inside suddenly started going nuts, swarming some guy while screaming about how much they love him. I guess he’s a celebrity or something, but I could care less,” the blond replied, waving with one of his hands towards the door he’d come through.

"Really? Curioso." The rawhide-clad man mused. "Well, good thing I dodged that bullet early then. I'm not one for crowds, let alone screaming crowds. I hope he doesn't create a commotion like this every day."

As the pair chattered like hens, the sound of the left side bullhead door slamming open and shut again came from around the corner. It took a few moments, but eventually, the manic shouting and screaming died down. Slowly, things seemed to return to their normal volume as a long-haired brunet man crawled around the corner, pressed his back up against the wall while keeping low as if to avoid being seen through the windows, and let out a shuddering, pained sigh. “Should’ve stayed in Atlas…” he breathed, looking as though he’d just been manhandled by a swarm of angry Walmart shoppers on Black Friday, his drab fatigue jacket thoroughly ruffled and scuffed up by whatever he’d just gone through. “Fuck my life-”

The man had turned to allow his gaze to drift sideways, in the direction of Samael and Ruby. When he noticed the pair, Ruby in particular, his eyes became unto dinner plates, genuine terror filling them as he locked up like a deer in headlights.

A few moments passed in silence before he looked down, and seemed to calculate something, his eyes trailing along the floor towards the girl in question… then he let out a relieved sigh, flopping back bonelessly into the wall. “Too close…” he whined.

Ruby blinked, looked at Samael, then felt a pang of concern for the seemingly beleaguered guy that looked like he was hiding from something. She nodded as she steeled her resolve. “Excuse me, are you okay-” she started as she took a step towards him.

“NO, BACK, BACK!” the man cried as he scrambled back away from the little red riding hood looking girl. “FOUR METRES, FOUR METRES!”

Ruby locked up, eyes widening as she went as stiff as a board. That… wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

Turning at the sound of shouting and mad scrambling, Trent unfolded himself back to his proper height and strolled over, an eyebrow raised. “What the blue blazes is happening over here?”

With the creaking of ten score tanned snakeskin belts, Samael sidled up to the group as well, head cocked curiously.

Ichabod raised an eyebrow at the scene, before glancing at the girl, "Maybe just do as he says and give him space, chica. Least for now."

“...I was just concerned…” Ruby whined as she poked the tips of her index fingers together like a child that just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

The blond leaned against the wall as he watched the scene, and added his own two cents. “Could be that he’s afraid of women or something, that would explain the reaction. Probably best to give him his space, if that’s the case.”

“Afraid of women?” Ruby looked confused, twisting about in place as if to look at herself in surprise and stupefaction. “Am I scary? I didn’t think I was scary, I don’t try to be scary- I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be scary mister!” the perky girl cried out to the man, bringing her hands up as if to amplify her own voice. “I’m Ruby, is it my hood? I can take the cloak off if it’s bothering you that much, although I’d really rather not!” she declared while still holding her enormous, three-metre long scythe that looked like it could cleanly bisect a city bus.

The long-haired man shook his head, his breathing falling back under control before he replied. “Just- just stay back - at least four metres!” he reached up and ran his hand across his face, clearly already done with this day. “Hjøphiël, Hjøphiël Vanta,” he introduced himself in turn.

The sombrero-wearing man nodded, "Ichabod Sable. Pleased to meet you."

Looking between the lot of them, Trent replied, “I’m Trent Blackmore.” No point in not introducing himself if everyone was doing it.

“Samael Obsidian.” Offered the belt-swaddled man, glancing at Trent briefly with a slight frown before looking away and folding his arms.

Ruby looked between the four gathered men and nodded gleefully. “Okay! It’s great to meet all of you and oh my word I just realized that you’re all going to Beacon too and that means you’re all gonna be Huntsmen too that means you all have weapons too can I see them are they coooool?” she drifted into a distinctly ghoulish tone, her knees buckling as she made grasping gestures at Trent. “Lemmie see, lemmie seeeeee.”

Before anyone could respond to Ruby’s apparent weapon gremlin tendencies, the right-side door to the deck sounded open with a resounding clang as a bombshell of a blonde with big violet eyes and a cocky grin stepped around the corner opposite Hjøphiël. She was garbed in browns and rich yellows, a somewhat revealing top with short shorts which emphasized her generous figure. “Ruby, there you are!” she called out as she strode up to the girl in the punk gothic dress, slapping her on the shoulder. “It’s calmed down in the cabin, apparently they lost track of that guy and the rest of the girls calmed down afterwards, so you can come back inside, no worries about bursting an eardrum anymore or anything!”

“Ah, Yang,” Ruby noted while turning in place. “Right, I was just talking to these guys that’re going to Beacon too and Samael here has the coolest sword she’s called Destination Ametarasuru and she turns into a giant throwing star and she had a big chain he uses to whip her around and it’s so cool-”

She let out a sudden and incredibly cute ‘eep!’ as Yang reached out and bonked her on the head lightly. “Alright, alright, I get it, they have cool Huntsman weapons, everyone does Ruby, you’ll get used to it!” she asserted as she planted her hands on her hips. “Now, c’mon, I wanna finish showing off my super special little genius baby sister that got into Beacon two years early - wait, aren’t you the guy all the girls were freaking out over?” she suddenly shifted gears, pointing at Hjøphiël, who turned pale at the attention.

“Uh,” the brunet Altesian started, looking about uncertainly. “Uh-”

“You don’t look so special to me-” Yang started as she started walking towards him.

“FOUR METRES!” he cried out, scrambling away, still on his back. “FOUR METRES!”

Yang stopped, looking surprised for a few moments… until a wide, shit-eating grin found purchase on her features. “...Why?” She asked playfully. “You got something to hide, Playboy? C’mere, let’s see what got the rest of the girls all worked up-”

As she started closing distance, Hjøphiël leapt to his feet in an unexpectedly graceful motion, turned, and bolted at full speed around the corner… Yang hot on his heels.

“C’mon, Hot Stuff, I just wanna sample the goods like the rest of the already girls got to!” she chortled, already enjoying tormenting the poor gynophobe. “Fair’s fair!”

Watching as the two sped off, Trent remarked, “I’d call her cruel for taking advantage of a man’s fear like that… but I’d throw someone under the bus in an instant if it would amuse me.”

"You seem like the sort of man to do that, I'd say," Ichabod remarked as he shook his head, swinging his sombrero side to side as he did.

Samael glanced back at Trent and looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “For some reason, I have no trouble believing that, despite the fact that we just met.”

Meanwhile, Ruby stomped up to Trent, doing her best to look as intimidating as she possibly could, which wound up looking more like a pout on her features. “Huntsmen exist to help people! You shouldn’t be talking about throwing people under buses, you should be talking about protecting people from buses! And destroying buses- I mean Grimm!” she declared with her hand on her frilly hips, flailing her still unfolded scythe about with the other, nearly catching Samael by the throat with it as she did so.

Trent grinned, “Oh, you sweet summer child, I’m going to have so much fun teaching you how to mess with people.”

Ichabod shook his head and nodded off, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Ruby pouted and stomped her boot once before retorting to Trent’s assertion with one of her own. “And I’m gonna enjoy teaching you how to help people!”

Samael chuckled. “And I’m going to enjoy watching the fireworks.”


	2. ...To a Bad Day

The bullhead docked at the airport sat upon the edge of the cliff on one side of Beacon Academy. Students milled off with varying states of excitement and stupor. Ruby and her apparent sister departed well ahead of everyone else, the little redhead seeming thoroughly excited to get her first look at the academy.

Meanwhile, well after pretty much the rest of the airship had vacated, four young men slowly ambled off, in each varying states of being. Samael, having managed to break away from Ruby after promising to let her look at his weapon later, was a bit frazzled but in relatively good spirits. Ichabod was a little drowsy still after his siesta, but he still felt content and left with a faint grin on his face, Trent was honestly somewhat amused despite the relative boredom from the long trip, and Hjøphiël looked like he wanted to die.

“Had to lock myself in the bathroom and curl up in the far corner to keep her far enough away…” the long-haired brunet whined as he rubbed the back of his neck pitifully. “Wouldn’t shut up about ‘free samples’ and an ‘early access pass...’” He grimaced heavily. “Some guy came by and started slamming on the door while she was doing that too, sounded like he really had to go-”

As they proceeded, a young blond man wearing a black hoodie and white armour had his head stuck in a public garbage can, very loudly puking and whining into it pitifully.

“...Sorry!” Hjøphiël said apologetically as they passed him by, though if he noticed, the blond gave no indication whatsoever. “Off to a great start already…”

Unlike the brunet, Trent just shook his head, uncaring of how callous it may have made him look. “I wonder if he even considered any sort of medicine for whatever’s bugging him because honestly, that’s not a great look for someone who’s starting a career as a Hunter.”

“I’ll say,” Hjøphiël sighed, “Doesn’t strike me as terribly well-disciplined. Can’t imagine him holding up well when it comes to fieldwork if being on a bullhead is enough to make him vomit. They don’t even shift about beneath one’s feet mid-flight or anything…”

“Eh, that's just how them Güeros be, I think." Ichabod snarked at the blondie's expense before stopping for a second and remembering the other blond right next to him. “No offence.”

The blond in question shrugged as he answered, “None taken, we’ll just have to whip him into shape, so he’s a respectable hunter by the time he graduates.”

“If you wanna adopt Vomit Boy over there,” Hjøphiël jerked his thumb back the way they’d come. “Be my guest. Now, if you don’t mind…” he suddenly took off at a dead sprint, moving at a surprisingly impressive pace and with impeccable posture. “Gotta get a seat that’s clear of girls four metres around!”

“Later, good luck on building a proper bubble, bubble boy!” Trent called, waving to the sprinting man as he shot off. Leaning over to his companions, he remarked, “I get the feeling that these’re going to be an interesting four years with him around to watch get into trouble.”

"Boy, are they ever?" Ichabod chuckled loudly. "That said, I think I'll be pitying him if his team is full of girls, which might just happen."

“I would hope that Headmaster Ozpin has fail-safes in place to account for his students’ psychological needs,” Samael put in, “but I suppose we shall have to wait and see.”

"Psychological needs? Que es eso?" The poncho-clad man snarked "Can you eat it? Does it go well with a bit of sauce?"

“Foolishness, even if you consider that much,” Trent replied, an eyebrow raised at the use of Spanish as he ambled on. “Besides, he could spin it as ‘using the opportunity to help him and others overcome such a handicap.’”

"Ooh, struggle! Now that is what I call a hearty meal to grow up as a big, healthy boy." Ichabod added as a shit-eating grin played across his features. "Eh, he'll live and he'll grow stronger for it. Probably."

As they stepped onto the main plaza leading up to Beacon, they were presented with a baffling tableau. Ruby was on the ground, covered in soot, clearly slightly scorched and dazed while a young lady in white with a huge amount of luggage was shouting at her. Off to the side was another lady, this one in black with her face in a book.

“You blasted buffoon!” the noble young lady in white cried out, thrusting an empty vial out at the familiar little red riding hood knock-off. “Have you the slightest inclination of how disastrous the consequences of your tomfoolery could have turned out!? This is pure, unrefined Dust! You don’t understand how close we came to being grievously injured, do you!”

“‘Grievously injured’, you say?” Samael cut in, tilting his fedora lower to shade his eyes from the obnoxiously white-themed girl. “If you are incapable of raising your Aura in time to react to unexpected danger, then can you truly claim to belong at Beacon?”

After Samael spoke, the blond recognized the young lady from her reputation and appearance, Trent chimed in, “Y’know Schnee, you’re Weiss-cold, given that you’re screaming at a girl who’s clearly not in the best of states. Sure, the accident might have had something to do with her being careless, but you’d think that someone of such a prestigious reputation would be more inclined to extend an olive branch, rather than bullying someone.”

Ichabod furrowed a brow at the mention of the Schnee name, looking at the white-haired girl. In her hand, the vial had the SDC's logo right in the middle. He lowered his sombrero slightly, as to cover the frown on his face.

“Were your opinions requested, plebians?” the borderline albino-looking girl apparently dubbed Schnee demanded, planting her hands on her hips as she glared at Trent defiantly. “It is bad enough that I have to deal with the smooth-brained shenanigans of this peasant without every low-born random injecting themselves into business which does not concern them!”

Ruby frowned heavily at the insults, looking more than a little put-off and disheartened by the disparaging comments being directed her way.

“Don’t worry, my opinion comes free of charge, Schnee,” Trent retorted, smiling as he did so. “Besides, this is a school for Hunters, so you should be prepared to rub elbows with people from all walks of life. Besides, there’s no telling how Ozpin and the staff assign teams, so you’re going to need to prepare yourself to work with whoever, not complain if you don’t think they’re of appropriate status.”

The stuck-up young lady tch’d heavily at that as she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Please,” she started in a disgustingly haughty tone. “I am Weiss Schnee, my pedigree will be recognized at a glance and the Headmaster will know to assign me a retinue appropriate for my status.”

"Or perhaps he'll do the exact opposite," Ichabod retorted, "False expectations like those precede the most painful of falls. Only time will tell, regardless."

“Your lack of faith in the Headmaster has been noted and will doubtlessly prove wildly off-base,” Weiss rolled her eyes as she flipped her side-tied ponytail haughtily. “Why am I continuing to waste my time with these simpletons?” she wondered aloud to herself before turning to face the men wearing uniforms emblazoned with the same symbol which adorned the vial in her hand.

She pointed at the various suitcases and bags littering the ground before harshly barking a command.

“Collect my luggage and bring it along already! I have better things to do than bother with these chimpanzees,” she said to who were apparently her servants as she started off for the academy, her poofy skirt barely moving at all as she marched off with a genuinely impressive amount of posture control, pointedly not bothering to further acknowledge Ruby or the three guys.

"'Che puta." Ichabod spat quietly as the Schnee left them.

After sparing a brief glance at Ichabod, Samael called after her, “I resent that, Schnee. I’ll have you know that I am a Black Mamba, not any sort of simian.”

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, looked back over her shoulder, and after a few moments, a heavy, ugly scowl found purchase on her otherwise lovely features. “Oh, great, a bumbling fool, and a Faunus,” she all but hissed the final word, now gazing at Samael like he was lower than the dirt beneath her heel. Samael didn’t speak, but merely lowered the belt-collar of his belt-coat to reveal a grim, haunting Glasgow smile, splitting his face literally from ear to ear, black scales at either edge of his mouth.

With a disgusted growl, Weiss whipped her face back around and continued along with a disapproving shake of her head. “That would explain the churlish, animalistic behaviour, though…” her voice trailed off as she rapidly placed distance between herself and the three guys, hastening her pace as if she were concerned she’d catch something by remaining in proximity of them.

“Racism’s a bad look for anyone, Schnee!” Trent called after her, deciding that he was either going to trash her reputation or force her to improve as a person. He then looked to Samael and jerked back at the sight of his face. “That’s quite the mug you got there, Sammy. You must be a hit at costume parties.”

Samael snorted. “Where do you think I got this thing?” he snarked, gesturing to his getup.

“...I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble…” Ruby practically whimpered, still seated inelegantly on the ground, having risen to her rear as her gaze seemed affixed downwards as Weiss’ servants finished gathering her things and scampered off without acknowledging any of the still present folks.

Ichabod shook his head and extended a hand towards the girl, "Don't dwell on it, chica. With her attitude, she probably would have raised up a stink elsewhere anyways."

“I dunno…” Ruby intoned with a grimace. “I’ve always done a good job of messing up first meetings and stuff - oh, where’d that other girl go…?” she wondered, glancing around in confusion upon noticing that the black-haired beauty with the golden eyes had quietly departed at some point.

“Oh hey, I’ve got a habit of doing that too,” a certain white-armoured young lad previously dubbed ‘Vomit Boy’ chuckled awkwardly as he attempted to slide into the conversation with a modicum of grace, lost entirely as he wiped his mouth with his hand. “Uh, Jaune, Jaune Arc, nice to meet’cha!” he presented the hand he’d been wiping his mouth with to seemingly everybody at once.

Samael dipped a hand into a pocket on the side of his coat and dug around for a bit, before emerging with a travel-sized packet of wet-wipes. He immediately offered them to Jaune, before replying, “Samael Obsidian. Might want to clean off your hand before trying to shake ours.”

“Oh, aha, sorry-!” Jaune awkwardly tittered as he took the offered wipes and visibly tried his best to not blush from embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’mma keep my hands to myself until I know you’ve washed those hands,” Trent declared, quickly shoving his own mitts into his pockets. “Besides, you’re giving us blonds a bad name with how you went right into that trash can.”

“Oh c’mon man, I’m doing my best here,” the significantly taller blond whined before turning to Ruby. “They been giving you this hard a time too?”

“No, they let me see their super-cool weapons that they whipped out and swung around like ‘whoosh, schwing, whip-pa rat-a-tat-a-tat!’” she started pantomiming machine gun noises at the end for no readily apparent reason, her disappointment with how her meeting with Weiss Schnee had went seemingly already gone from her mind as she started geeking out about weapons again, entirely unprompted too.

At least she seemed to bounce back from disappointment quickly enough. A trait that would surely not be incredibly useful as she continued to spend time around our intrepid heroes.

\---

The assembly in the auditorium hadn’t been particularly noteworthy, all things considered. The guys had all been so far back in the crowd that they could barely make out the Headmaster as he gave his opening speech, and from what they gleaned, it largely amounted to little more than ‘git gud, scrubs’ anyways. Needless to say, nobody dwelled on it overmuch as they went about spending the rest of the day familiarizing themselves with Beacon’s layout.

As it always did, night eventually came, and because room assignments were not doled out until four-man teams were officially decided upon, everyone wound up just sleeping in the ballroom (because of course Beacon had a ballroom) wherever the hell they saw fit. Needless to say, there wasn’t even the barest beginnings of order as large clumps of students were spread here-and-there, to-and-fro. Sleeping bags and intermittent girlish and boyish giggling dominated the atmosphere since the staff apparently saw nothing wrong with having the teenaged boys and girls sleeping in the same room together.

Hjøphiël, needless to say, looked absolutely mortified in his corner, which he’d sectioned off with bright yellow caution tape labelled in bold letters ‘FOUR METRES’ and everything, lord only knew where he’d found that assuming he didn’t have it on him when they arrived at the academy.

He scanned the room like a sentinel, his eyes bugged the fuck out, wincing every time his gaze drifted over Yang, who, aside from chatting animatedly with Ruby, pointedly winked at him from where she was lounging on the floor every time he did so with a massive, shit-eating grin on her face.

Hjøphiël doubted that he was going to get any sleep that night.

Trent was lounging around with Samael and Ichabod, waiting to actually be tired enough to fall asleep, the former having drifted to sit near a young lady who was reading by candlelight so that he could do his own reading. The blond had no idea why Ichabod had gone along with them, but they were basically his only friends so far, so he figured he might as well stick with them. The later messed around with his scroll, which drew a few eyes if only because it was so incredibly dated, looking almost like a very old, very worn PDA.

Aside from muffled murmuring and chittering of teenaged boys and girls sharing a ballroom for the night, all was quiet, no particular shenaniganry occurred.

“Heeeey-o, swooordguy!” a boisterous bombshell of a blonde approached the group with a wide, genuine and goofy-ass smile on her face as she waved dramatically, dragging a quietly protesting Ruby along behind her. “Ruby was just telling me all about the ‘super cool dark edgy hero guy with the super deadly killer monster KA-TA-NA sword that was super nice to her on the bullhead!”

“Yaaaang,” Ruby attempted to silently whine, nervously playing with the sleeping mask resting on her forehead as she did so. “People are trying to sleep! C’mon, this is embarrass-”

“So you know my name!” the cheerful blonde declared. “Gonna introduce yourself, Big Hat?” she asked Samael in particular.

The man in question, having already marked his place and snapped his book shut upon hearing the oncoming Hurricane Extrovert, gave a genial nod and replied, “Samael. Charmed, I’m sure.” His gaze drifted from Yang to Ruby, and he continued, “It is good to see you in better spirits than before...well, before.”

“Ah, right, well, I suppose I’m just kinda used to it is all,” the raven-haired girl with the crimson streaks shrugged. “Can’t let it get to you every time you mess up a first meeting with someone, right?” she said in a hushed voice, still attempting to be quiet despite Yang’s complete lack of consideration for the literal rest of the present student body. Her gaze then drifted aside to the elegant, golden-eyed young lady with a bow resting atop her head that had her nose buried in a book “Oh, you’re that girl…”

“‘That girl’ who is trying to read in peace,” she replied dryly, clearly not particularly amused by the sudden influx of noise and commotion.

Ruby shirked away, looking mighty guilty as she drew her shoulders in tightly, trying to make herself look smaller than she already did.

“Hey, there’s no reason to be so rude!” Yang asserted, planting a hand on her wide hips and giving the raven-haired girl a disapproving look at her response to her little sister’s observation. “Whatever your name is.”

“Does it matter?” said bookworm asked with no enthusiasm whatsoever, her eyes not leaving the pages before her once as she chose to not divulge that her name was Blake to the goons making a scene.

“Yeesh, why you gotta be dead fishing it like that?” Yang said before leaning in and giving the girl a cheeky, somewhat overconfident grin. “Everyone always appreciates it more whenever a pretty girl smiles, shows a little enthusiasm when she gets attention, y’know?”

“How can she be enthusiastic when you’ve clearly hogged it all to yourself?” Trent asked, wearing a small smile at the byplay. “Hey, there’s an idea, maybe she can borrow some of yours.”

“Hey, if it gets my foot in the door, I’d be happy to lend a hand-” Yang started, shifting her gaze to Trent, the instant before her gaze was torn yet further off to the side to notice a certain other blond boy strutting his stuff down the middle of the ballroom.

Jaune, outright peacocking about like he owned the place - in his footy pajamas.

“Ewgrgh-” the violet-eyed bombshell suddenly choked on her words, making a visibly mortified face at the sight before her as she full-body cringed away from him.

Samael followed her gaze and was unable to suppress a snort, tilting his hat down to cover his face to muffle his laughter.

Trent meanwhile, had a positively feral grin on his face. “Oh, vomit boy is just going to be the gift that keeps on giving. Can’t wait to see what he unleashes on us next.”

“If this is what we can expect, I can,” Yang whined. She really didn’t like the footy pajamas, it seemed. “Well, at least the rest of the boys know how to properly put on a show for the girls,” she shrugged before the smile returned to her face and she turned back around. “Ain’t that right, Bigger Hat? Or should I say ‘the dark and mysterious one?’”

Ichabod chuckled lightly as he had attention called to him, lifting the brim of his sombrero and looking at the blonde. "Well, I'm not sure hiding my sunburnt skin counts as a show, but if it's good enough for you to call it that..."

“Well,” Yang started, her smile reaching heretofore unmatched levels as she leaned forward heavily over the Vacuan, giving him a bountiful and doubtless deliberate view down her tanktop. “I do prefer my tacos with hard shells.”

The poncho-wearing man's face blanched, not for the innuendo, but upon hearing of the great Sin which tarnished the world by the fact of its mere existence.

“So, what, you like ladies that wear jockstraps?” Trent immediately joked, his own smile matching the standing blonde’s.

“Hey, what’s the point in life without a little adventure?” Yang responded to Trent’s question with a question of her own, looking both smug and entirely too intrigued by the notion.

The lounging blond chuckled, “I see, so you like to crack open your clams then.”

Yang’s smile somehow, somehow, widened yet further at that, and she went to open her mouth-

“Are you serious right now!?” A certain white-haired young lady stomped up to the group, practically snarling as her shoulders were drawn up around her ears and her nails dug into her palms. “There are other people who are actually taking their enrollment in this establishment seriously who are trying to sleep, damn it! Have you nugget-brained simpletons not the barest hint of decorum nor consideration-”

She stopped, eyes widening as an electric shock seemed to fire up her spine as she actually looked at the group.

“YOU,” she growled, pointing at the guys and Ruby in turn. “I should have known it would be you damned low-born Faunus loving pieces of-” Her mouth snapped shut, hands crossed over her lips, she looked visibly horrified by the notion that she’d apparently, probably, almost swore.

“Hey!” Yang harshly interjected, immediately invading Weiss’ personal space with a scowl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean!? You got a problem with my sister and her friends!?” she demanded, arms tensing as, already, she looked ready to start throwing hands.

Ruby just looked absolutely mortified that this was happening, even as Blake quietly glared up over her book at Weiss.

The rest of the room had taken notice of the situation too, and thus, the entire room was now staring at the group and what looked like a brewing catfight.

Meanwhile, across the room, Hjøphiël’s attention had been demanded despite the fact that he’d, somehow, managed to start nodding off, and he lifted his head to squint across to the candlelit commotion happening opposite his sectioned-off corner. Then, he cocked his head in confusion at the familiar splotch of white that was quickly coming into focus. “Wai… t…” he mumbled as his mind slowly spooled back up from the edge of sleep. “Tha’ looks like Wint-”

His eyes went as wide as saucers, his nails dug gouges in the floor he was still sitting on, and his heart damn near leaped out of his throat.

Weiss Schnee. He recognized the girl immediately, and absolute, unyielding terror-filled and grasped his very soul.

“I should’ve stayed in Atlas…” Hjøphiël very, very quietly whined as he prayed, prayed with all of his might that the Schnee scion didn’t ever take notice of him.

Staring blandly up at the white-haired girl, Trent remarked, “Oh, don’t be surprised, blondie. Schnee here’s been as cold as Weiss all day, shouted at poor Ruby earlier, and did a big racism at Samael earlier. At this point, I’m just waiting and watching for when something forces her to pull her head out of her ass.”

A long silence followed as Wiess’ nostrils visibly flared at Trent’s words, almost perfectly in time with Yang’s. Their gazes were locked, neither turning the slightest bit to directly acknowledge Trent’s statement.

“I don’t like you,” Yang lowly declared to the shorter, far paler lady past a heavily furrowed brow.

“Somehow, I imagine that the feeling will be mutual,” Weiss coldly intoned back, not backing down from the larger girl’s imminently hostile presence at all. “I would suggest that you all rapidly grow up and show some consideration for your fellow Hunters - you may think this is all one big joke, but we came here to demonstrate that we have what it takes to fight the Grimm and perform our duty as superior examples of humanity.”

Her icy blue eyes snapped from Yang’s towards Samael, who was sitting quietly and calmly, not having done much at all to make a nuisance of himself.

“Although I suppose I can see why that might be a tall order for rabble-rousing Faunus sympathizers.”

Without wasting a solitary second to give anyone the chance to respond, she spun on her heel and marched back the way she’d come, clearly not at all bothered by having all eyes firmly on her.

After a long moment, Samael cracked his book back open before calmly commenting, “My, such hostility. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she disliked me.”

Blake’s gaze drifted from Weiss, who had now faded into the background, aside to Samael. A barely perceptible sympathetic crinkling of her brow finding purchase on her sharp, almost predatory features.

"I think this is the moment where the right thing to do is to take a deep breath and try not to lash out and escalate the situation," Ichabod added, looking like he himself was just one step away from snarling out the words. "Let's be the bigger people; life will sort her out on its own, in time."

Letting that marinate for a moment, Trent then decided to ask, “So, what do you guys think is the bigger joke? Her attitude, or Vomit Boy’s footy pajamas?”

“Hey!” Jaune, who had been standing off to the side the entire time, stuck mid-strut at the sudden commotion that had broken out. “I won them in a contest!”


	3. The Handsomest Boy

“No way, where’s my locker? I know I didn’t use number 636, I’d have remembered if I’d had to count that high…!” Jaune whined as he drifted past Ichabod, looking at a sheet of actual, physical paper in naked desperation whilst attempting to determine where he’d left his weapon. “Awww, why’d this have to happen today…?”

The poncho-clad man raised an eyebrow as he heard the number, but since he didn't know how to even help him with that particular problem, he went back to taking out his weapon from the locker. The swordlike serrated club sat firmly within the slot inside the large round shield. Adios Arenas, his pride and joy.

As he grabbed the hilt, he heard a clicking noise which made him wince. He fully took the macuahuitl out and sat at the nearby bench, carefully tinkering with the handle of the weapon. The extender was jiggling in a rather uncomfortable way, but other than that, it didn't seem like there were any other problems.

“Heeeeey theeeeere buuuuddy,” Ruby slid into Ichabod’s peripheral vision, smiling ever-so-widely as she did so, weapon gremlin that she was. “That sure is a handsome weapon you got here, it got a name?”

"S’called Adios Arenas." The man answered whilst giving her a better view of the sword and shield combo.

“Woooow,” Ruby breathed, seemingly in awe of Ichabod’s response. “I don’t know what that means,” she declared, eyes sparkling.

"It means "Goodbye Sands", and it's a bit janky at times, but it puts in good work," Ichabod replied before he felt the handle shift around again and a frown formed on his face. "Emphasis on janky, I guess."

“Wait, she’s not supposed to do that? Oh no!” Ruby suddenly looked absolutely beside herself, hopping about like a concerned child that found an injured puppy. “Oh no, oh no! Here, can I look at her? Let me look her, I might be able to help! Oh, it’s okay, it’ll be alright girl! It’s okay,” she cooed to the weapon, reaching out and gently stroking it as if it were a frightened animal.

"Uh...sure, chica." Ichabod allowed and raised the weapon towards her. "Some parts might need to be replaced though so I can't-"

There was a burst of rose petals, and in the blink of an eye, Ruby was looming over a completely disassembled Adios Arenas, a toolbox she’d produced from somewhere wide open with intricate gadgets randomly scattered about her. “Oh no, she has a broken rivet! No wonder her handle was all loose and jingly! I don’t have any of those on hand, and it’d take a bit to replace one… Oh! But I do have spare heavy-duty screws that should probably be able to hold her steady for at least a little while, definitely through the entrance exam at least!”

The little ravenette nodded her head once, there was yet another burst of rose petals, and Ichabod found his hand occupied with the now fully reassembled weapon again.

“Ta-da! Good as new! She should hold well enough unless you do something crazy like use her to cut a building in half or something!” Her hands were held out, presenting the weapon as if she’d just done a magic trick - and given how the tools were all gone as well, she might as well have.

Ichabod blinked once, then twice, before saying, "Khe verga?"

After dealing with his surprise, he gave the weapon a couple experimental swings. Seeing no issues, he extended the handle. Repeating the process with two hands, he gave an impressed hum.

"Hey, that's pretty impressive. No problems anymore," Ichabod said and gave a small bow. "Big, big thanks. I don't have much lien to pay back right now, but I think I'll figure something out if you let me.”

“Hey!” Ruby immediately looked mad as she stomped her foot. “I didn’t do it for money! I did it because I love working on weapons and to help a friend in need!” In an instant, her demeanour became downright timid, and she looked deeply uncertain. “O-oh, wait, I understand, I’m not- um, sorry, I didn’t mean to presume, I just- sorry…” She drifted off, looking like a kicked puppy as she seemed to shrink in on herself.

"Ah, no, don't worry about it, chica, " Ichabod gave an awkward laugh, "It's more of a compulsion of mine, to try and payback for work done for me. You're pretty cool either way, it's fine, you don't need to apologize for anything."

“Really!?” Ruby asked, clasping her hands together and leaning forwards at the taller man. “Does that mean we’re friends?”

Ichabod nodded. "Sure? I don't see why not."

“YAAAAAY!” the little red hooded Huntress-in-training cheered as she jumped and started dancing about in place. “I gotta brand new frieeend~! I gotta brand new frieeend~!” she sing-songed in a downright disgustingly wholesome manner, pumping her little fists as she did so.

Ichabod had only known the girl for a day, but if anything were to happen to her, he would likely murder everyone in the immediate area, then eat a hardshell taco.

“Awright, now let’s get a super cool demonstration my blade buddy-!” she started only to stop dead and blink confusedly. “Wait, I just realized that there was no Dust loaded in Adidas Eternas, did you forget? You should do that before we have to deploy and fight Grimm!” She instructed Ichabod, pointing her little finger at his nose.

"True, I guess. It's just that I ran out of Dust on the way here and I didn't have enough lien to buy more," Ichabod said lamely with a sideways glance, "it works fine without though…"

“Foolishness, Ichabod,” Came a new voice, as Samael skulked around the side of a locker, opening his coat to reveal a veritable spice rack of Dust, in both vial and crystal form. “What element strikes your fancy, my good man?”

The sombrero-wearing poor fuckboi glanced at the offered products and blinked. "Wait, for free or something? I can't possibly take that off your hands without paying."

“If you must pay me back,” Samael said with a roll of his piss-yellow eyes, “then worry about it after we survive the initiation, no?”

"Jeez, I'm not getting that vibe that says you're going to try to take a kidney later to pay for it, but it still feels like I shouldn't accrue debts like this," Ichabod said whilst scratching at the back of his head. "But alright, I'm game. You got wind and fire?"

Samael rummaged through the pockets, speaking as he did so. “Refined, or crystal? How much of each?”

"Refined fire, crystal wind," Ichabod answered. "I'll try not to take a lot of either."

“...I was gonna suggest breaking open a few of Crescent Rose’s cartridges if you need Dust, but I guess just buying some from Samael works too,” she suggested with a chuckle.

As Samael was handing over the goods, a little ways down the hall, a much more animated conversation was occurring.

“C’mon, just chill out a little, and we can gather round, pop open a few cans of definitely just totally legal soda and not beer and get to know each other like good friends away from prying eyes and the surveillance of the authorities, right?” Yang said with an incredibly forced, obvious faked smile.

“Oh, yeah!” Weiss responded, hands resting on her hips as she glared up at Yang past lidded eyes. “We can paint our nails, and compare fashion notes, and talk about how to best overthrow the evil terrible capitalist regime that gives Faunus jobs and security like the awful terrible monsters they are and talk about cute boys like…” she glanced around and jerked her thumb back over her shoulder at Jaune. “Like tall, blond, and scraggly over there- or short, blond, and nuggety there,” she also pointed aside at Trent, who had been accompanying Yang.

Jaune perked up from his crudely drawn map at that.

Off to the side, Trent was leaning on his own locker, watching the scene unfold. At the pointing, the shorter blond just shrugged. “Hey, we’re a whole cocktail of blondes.”

“Blonds do have more fun!” Yang nodded, still giving Weiss that uncomfortably forced, downright predatory smile. “Now c’mon, what d'ya say, let’s head on over to that corner the security cameras don’t cover!” she suggested, her knuckles twitching.

Weiss shook her head, crossed her arms, and averted her gaze in disgust. “Typical Faunus sympathizer, looking for any excuse to cause trouble. Why don’t you go do something halfway productive with your dumb brute strength - like make cobblestone for your little friends to use when paving the roads for their betters.”

Yang’s smile extended even more so, though it looked more like she was baring her teeth at the shorter, significantly paler girl, her brow twitching heavily.

There was a beat wherein nothing happened, then…

“I’m a natural blond, you know,” Jaune slid up alongside Weiss, running a gloved hand through his hair as he attempted to look suave at the openly disgusted-looking corporate heiress, evidently having decided that he’d heard nothing but the remark about him, which he’d also decided was a sign of genuine interest.

“Oh, we can tell you’re real, genuine, one hundred percent natural blond,” Trent quipped, shaking his head as he moved to stand at his full height. “It takes a special sort of person to reach that level.”

Jaune chuckled, making finger guns at Trent. “Oh, well, you, uh, ain’t so, uh, bad yourself, guy,” he remarked nervously. “But I uh, sorry, this guy exclusively catches.”

A beat followed.

“Or wait, was it pitches- oh no, wait, I mean-”

Interrupting the now flustered and confused boy, Trent retorted, “Believe me, you’re hardly my type either.” After a moment, he added, “And a smooth guy like yourself? I bet your mom tells you that you’re the coolest cat around.”

“Yeah, she does!” Jaune replied pridefully, placing his hands on his hips with a wide smirk. “I’m the handsomest guy in the house whenever dad’s at work,” he ran a single thumb across his chin, clearly trying to look cool. “So, what d'ya say, you want a super-exclusive spot on the handsomest blond’s team, my sweet little Snow Angel-”

Trent immediately looked over to Yang, who was doubled over, laughing so hard that she was crying, barely able to breathe. Patting the hand that was tightly gripping his shoulder as a support, he asked, “When did he get the ability to add people to your team?”

At that, Yang’s knees gave out and she collapsed, now kicking her legs and vocalizing in distress as her face began to turn red, then blue from a lack of air intake.

“What? No, I’m talking about my team-” Jaune asserted confusedly, seemingly entirely unperturbed by Yang’s current state of near-death. “Wait, where’d my little Snow Angel go-?”

Having realized that Weiss had disappeared, Trent quickly joined Yang in her cackling, finding the entire situation devolving into a hilarious mess.

“Hell-o miss Nikos!” the white-haired blueblood could be heard as she rapidly beat a hasty retreat from the group, beelining for an eye-catching ponytailed redhead decked out in gleaming bronze armour. “I don’t believe we’ve met before…”

“...Darn!” Jaune stomped his foot and huffed as his voice cracked. “Look at what you’ve gone and done, man! You just totally scared her off, I had her practically dancing on the palm of my hand!” He gave Trent a betrayed look. “I’ll remember that you totally violated the bro code, buddy!”

At that point, the shortest of the three blonds joined his friend on the ground, howling with laughter as he completely sandbagged Jaune’s attempt at scolding him. It was so hilariously off base and cringey that it wrapped around to be the highest form of comedy.

“When you need a wingman to help guide you to a dazzling… air… strip… joint,” Jaune attempted to sound mad as he tried so very hard to dress down Trent. “Don’t look to Jaune Arc, bro code breaker!” He started backing off, making an ‘eyes-on-you’ gesture at Trent as he did so. “Never forget!”

Rolling over and slamming his fist on the ground, Trent let out a roar of laughter. “Air strip joint! Air strip joint! I’ll never forget! I’ll never forget because you managed to deepthroat your leg so hard that you’re kicking yourself in the balls!”

Yang grabbed Trent from behind, pulling him into a crushing, panicked back-hug as she tried and failed to scream from the suffocation she was currently experiencing.

“-Yang!” Ruby rushed in with a burst of flower petals. “What’s wrong! Are you okay!? Do you need help!? Should I get a nurse!? Oh no, it’s okay Yang, don’t die, Yang, don’t die!” she cried, leaning over, then pausing, blinking owlishly, and rearing back with a grimace. “Ew! Yang! We’re in public!” she cried out as she partially deployed Crescent Rose and started trying to wedge it between Trent and Yang to leverage them apart. “Do gross naughty stuff with your new boyfriend at the end of the day when we get our dorms! Yang! Yang!”

Managing to catch his breath and stop laughing for a moment, Trent took in the situation and then his face immediately broke into another wide grin as he started laughing even harder.

At that moment, Samael swept up to the scene, bemusement in his eyes. “What in the name of Eight-Headed Orochi happened here?”

Across the room, Hjøphiël stared blankly at the insanity occurring as everyone else was prepping for the entrance exam. He had his collapsing sword partially set on the back of his hip and his pistol partially holstered, as if frozen in time. “What the actual hell…”

“Quite the commotion going on over there…” a young, distinctly Asian man in green noted as he strode up alongside Hjøphiël, reaching up and brushing his jet black hair with a single pink streak in it out of his eyes.

“I’ll say…” Hjøphiël agreed as he began to finish holstering his weapons, only to be interrupted by a pair of hands harshly and firmly planting themselves on his shoulders.

“They seem like fun!” a high-pitched voice declared. “Rowdy buncha goobers, huh!? I’d know, being a goober myself, ha!”

Hjøphiël turned to look over his shoulder and felt his heart stop as he gazed into a cute ginger girl’s big cyan eyes. He stared, eyes wide and full of terror and fear-

“What?” the girl asked, a subdued, but still somehow manic smile plastered on her face. “Y’okay there buddy? Is it indigestion? It’s indigestion, isn’t it? I can’t blame you, pancakes for breakfast - I almost ate too much myself - as if there’s such a thing as eating too many pancakes, right? Hah! Can you imagine that, Ren? Eating too many pancakes? I bet I could eat a whole garbage truck’s worth of pancakes - OH, WITH EXTRA MAPLE SYRUP AND BUTTER AND-”

“...Sure, Nora,” the young man dubbed Ren replied in a voice entirely too worn down for a guy his age as the girl reached over with one of her hands and started agitatedly shaking his shoulder.

Terror quickly made way for confusion. Hjøphiël blinked, and stared… she was touching him, but… wasn’t affected by his Semblance?

...He didn’t know what to think about that. So he just… tried not to, simply finishing holstering his weapons and letting out a heavy sigh. He’d think about it later, focus on the entrance exam, for now, try not to consider the fact that maybe his Semblance might have stopped doing the thing and stop thinking about it, damn it!

\---

The prospective first years of Beacon Academy had all gathered at the cliff’s edge overlooking the forest in which the exam was to take place. Headmaster Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch were standing before the crowd, looking them over appraisingly, The white-haired man, in particular, took a long, slow sip from his coffee mug, nodding once before addressing the students.

“For years, you have trained to become warriors, and today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest,” he declared, his gaze falling on Jaune in particular.

Professor Goodwitch continued next, a few strands of her loosely gathered platinum blonde bun swaying in the wind mesmerizingly, the very definition of the hot librarian/teacher holding a scroll in hand as she gazed over its backlit contents. “Now, I’m sure that many of you have heard the rumours about team assignments. Allow us to put an end to your confusion,” she said, stern neon green eyes gazing out beyond her rimless glasses. “Each of you will be given teammates. Today.”

Ruby could be heard briefly whining in a manner which could be most accurately described as ‘heckin adorable,’ but otherwise, nobody made a sound as they stood at attention and waited for the briefing to continue.

“These teammates will be with you for the rest of your time at Beacon,” Ozpin continued with a nod. “So it would be ideal for you to be paired with someone you would work well with.”

Ruby whined again, and Yang turned her gaze sideways, winking at Trent with a wide, goofy smile. The other blond just smiled and shrugged, having decided that he’d let the cookie crumble as it wanted.

“That being said,” Ozpin pressed on without missing a beat. “The first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years.”

“WHAT!?” Ruby (and Weiss) cried out in open horror (annoyance in Weiss’ case) at the prospect, looking mortified at the prospect of teammate composition being effectively randomized. Trent just looked over at a bemused Yang and shrugged apologetically, no way they could’ve known about that caveat.

Ichabod noticed the Schnee's irritation and a smug smile began to form on his face, knowing she wasn't getting her retinue like she wanted. The poncho clad man chuckled as he considered the many possible people she would be forced to partner up with and how badly she'd take it. He hoped it wasn't him, yet also idly wondered how much of a fucking trash fire it'd be if it came to pass. It was a coin toss either way.

“See! I told you!” Nora declared, prodding Ren on the shoulder while Hjøphiël stood off to the side of them, visibly stupified by the fact that a girl was remaining well within arm’s reach of him, and was just… unaffected by his troublesome Semblance for the first time… ever. Seriously, what the fuck?

Samael, for his part, was once more gazing balefully down upon the landscape below, his mind a churning cauldron of contemplation. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment where their mettle would be tested, where they would rise...or they would fall. Would his training prove to be enough, or would the cold fingers of the grave rise to grasp his pallid soul this day?

Ozpin saw fit to continue speaking with no regard for his students’ reaction to his announcement. “After you’ve partnered up, make your way to the northern part of the forest. You will meet… opposition, along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path, or you will die.”

Jaune let out a nervous chuckle as he paced in place, looking about with a rising panic on his countenance. Hjøphiël just drew his lips into a grim line. This wasn’t the kind of conflict he had been trained for… but he was sure he’d manage as he flexed his hands and readied himself to combat Grimm.

“You will be monitored and graded for the duration of your initiation,” Ozpin said matter-of-factly, utterly unperturbed by the fact that he was apparently about to send children to fend for themselves in monster-infested woods. “But our instructors will not intervene. You will find an abandoned temple at the end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one, and return to the top of the cliff. We will regard your performance, and grade you appropriately… are there any questions?”

Jaune raised his hand like a good boy and spoke up. “Yeah, um, sir-”

“Good!” Ozpin cut him off with no apparent regard for his visible nervousness. “Now, take your positions,” everyone shifted their stances, some drawing their weapons, but everyone readying themselves for something… save Jaune.

“Uh, sir?” Jaune asked in a pathetic, low whine even as Ruby looked hyped as fuck beside him with a grin that spread ear-to-ear. “I’ve got, um, a question. So, this, landing strategy thing, uh, w-what is it? You’re like, dropping us off, or something?”

“No, you will be falling,” Ozpin replied matter-of-factly.

“...Were we given parachutes, or…?” Jaune asked uncertainly.

“No,” Ozpin said blandly as Yang donned a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses.

And so it began, Samael realized.

“...Wait, I don’t understand-” Jaune started, only to be cut off by the catapult pads everyone had been standing on proceeding to yeet them the fuck over the cliff edge at terminal velocity, which all but Jaune had been prepared for.

Now, would they soar like eagles? Would they fall to Remnant, ablaze like a meteorite? Or would they rise from that dark fire, reincarnated as phoenixes guarding man from the ravening dark that clawed at their walls?

Jaune flew past Samael in an uncontrolled spin, squealing in a most pathetic manner as he flailed like a helpless ragdoll entirely in over his head.

Watching his students soar off to their destiny, Ozpin took a small sip from his mug, entirely satisfied with having sent off a dozen teenagers to their possible demise.

All in a day’s work.


	4. Death Incarnate

Flight was an oft sought dream of humanity; to soar across the skies like a bird, unbound by the law of the land, free of all restraints. Yet while man was able to traverse the great blue above, they were constrained by many factors. Machines powered by Dust allowed them to some measure of it, but true flight was still something far from their reach.

Gravity still exerted its pull upon all bodies, and all that which rose would inevitably fall. The prospective huntsmen were all in the air, and their descents were all different in nature. Some rode across the wind, others still defied the pull of the planet to go even further ahead, some floundered almost like a rock in a pond.

Ichabod was to fall, and with his current trajectory, he could see that he would land right in the middle of a small gathering of Grimm. A short laugh left his lips.

Ichabod was to fall, and if that was how it would be…

He spun in the air and drew his weapon, the macuahuitl catching on fire just as he slotted the tip onto the shield. Jagged teeth extended all around the circular object's edge and began spinning with a roar as deafening as the passing air.

The man began somersaulting as he fell, picking up speed with each repetition of the motion and turning into a brilliant streak of flame.

If he was to fall, then it would be as a comet to sunder the earth.

The Beowolves below spotted the figure descending and met it with bared teeth and claws. The comet met the ground in the middle of them. Ichabod's shield impacted against the ground. The green gemstone he slotted right in the middle shone a bright emerald light.

Dirt scattered everywhere from the point of impact, as did an extinguishing blaze. Though the canine beasts were not caught dead center, they were still reduced to naught but ashes and cinders.

From the thick cloud of dust and the billowing smoke covering the crater, Ichabod emerged, flourishing his weapon as he separated the shield and firmly grasped it.

He closed his eyes and threw back his head as he laughed wildly.

Behind, a Beowolf who survived the conflagration by hiding behind a rock stalked towards the man, but before it got any further, Ichabod, still laughing like a maniac and without so much as sparing a glance at it, swung his arm back and launched the shield towards it.

The last thing the creature of Grimm witnessed before the saw cut through its body was a pair of eyes staring into its own.

\---

Careening through the air, Trent simply allowed his trajectory to guide him towards the ground, ignoring the others flying across the sky. Carefully gauging his altitude and speed, he thrust his arms and legs out, slowing slightly as he descended towards the treeline.

Upon breaching it, his hands snapped out and grabbed the first branch within reach, using his aura to cushion the jarring it had on his shoulder joints as the tree limbs creaked and eventually shattered from the combination of his speed and weight.

The blond continued like that, seeing no reason to be overly fancy if it got the job done.

Eventually touching down on the forest floor, surrounded by a plethora of broken branches, Trent cast his gaze about only to catch the sound of combat in the distance. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he whistled under his breath as he started to amble in that direction.

“Might as well see just who I end up with.”

\---

As the snakeskin hem of his coat billowed against the air resistance, Samael threw a hand out, Desolation Amaterasu snapping into its shuriken configuration as it spun away. The sound of rattling steel filled his ears as his weapon’s chain-link tether flowed seemingly infinitely from his sleeve.

Abruptly, and with the distinct thunk of metal piercing wood, the haunting noise came to a stop...but only for a moment, for in the next instant, the snake Faunus found his trajectory rapidly changed. His weapon’s tether immediately reversed its direction, reeling him towards a rather thick tree-like a fish on a lure.

In preparation, Samael allowed his Aura to gather in his arms and legs, and not a moment too soon. His knees bent as his boots impacted the side of the tree, but he barely paused as he ripped Desolation Amaterasu from its barky sheath and launched it in a tight arc around the back of the towering oak. His left hand snaked out to catch the shuriken as it came around to him, pulling the chain taut against century-old bark, and then he just...shimmied down.

He was still shaky with heights, okay?

\---

As a cacophony of gunshots rang out all around him, Hjøphiël simply focused and slammed into the grassy soil in a simple three-point landing, just as he’d been taught back at Atlas. Simple, efficient, no energy wasted. With his one raised hand, he reached down and drew his pistol from its drop holster on his thigh, raising it as he himself rose to his feet and withdrew his sword from the back of his hip. The bladed weapon unfolded quickly enough, and he was ready.

Eyes scanning the woods around him, tuning out the distant reports of Dust cartridges going off, he determined relatively easily that he was alone, no opposition to speak of.

That was fine with him. His specialty laid… elsewhere, after all. After a few moments, he allowed himself to relax, listened to the distant gunfire, and started heading in the direction of the nearest-sounding bursts while remaining low, instincts that had been drilled into his head over the course of years.

While he was far from helpless, it’d be wise if he teamed up with someone that had been specifically trained for combating Grimm sooner rather than later.

\---

Trent’s eyebrows quirked up as he watched Ruby and the Schnee girl rocket up into the heavens, utterly baffled by the sight.

On one hand, it was rather hilarious to see the heiress get saddled with one of the plebs she so detested. On the other, he deeply pitied his younger friend, as she was now doomed to be stuck with a royal twat for the next four years of her life. On his third limb, he also wondered if they were going to make it because they literally got snatched up by a giant Nevermore.

“Well, I hope Ruby makes it,” he remarked as he started walking again, shaking his head. “And Schnee too, I guess. It’d suck for the kid to get traumatized by having someone die in front of her.”

As he looked up, he noticed a pair of eyes in the trees, looking at him.

They weren’t even attached to anyone, just literally growing out of the tree bark.

Blinking, he asked, “So, does this count, or what?”

Off in the distance, a poncho-clad, sombrero-wearing figure called out to him.

"Oye Güero!" Ichabod yelled "Over here!"

Turning to the sound, the blond nodded as he waved. “Hey Ichabod, does meeting eyes with a tree count?”

Ichabod simply broke out in laughter as he beckoned him closer with an arm gesture.

Shrugging, the blond cast his gaze back at the eyes in the tree, narrowing his own as he realized that they’d disappeared. Deciding not to dwell on it, he strolled over to the sombrero clad man. “Eyes are gone, horror movie averted.”

"I see, I see." Ichabod mused as he scratched his chin before putting his closed hands in front of his own eyes. "...Or is it!?"

The man splayed his fingers outward, revealing two eyes sitting right in the middle of his palms, their irises were brightly coloured with spots of red, green, blue, yellow and purple. They and Ichabod's entire frame shook erratically as the out of place organs stared right at Trent.

“Oh, that’s neat,” Trent replied, smiling at the realization that the mystery had been solved. “Also, incredibly useful for a variety of things.” After a moment, he added, “So, how good are you at spotting angry boyfriends and husbands?”

Ichabod cackled.

"How much prep time do I get?"

\---

After finally reaching the forest floor with all of his extremities intact and unbruised, Samael dusted off his coat and retracted his weapon’s chain, shifting it back into its melee configuration; a katana this time, rather than a nodachi. Satisfied, he detached the chain and slipped the blade into its scabbard before casting about himself, trying to get his bearings.

“Sup,” Hjøphiël spoke up behind the man, having heard his chain clinking as he slowly descended from the tree, moved to investigate, then stood near it while waiting for him to reach the bottom.

Samael leapt almost a foot in the air, heart in his scaly mouth. Once he touched down, he adjusted his fedora and regarded Hjøphiël with a neutral gaze, eyebrow twitching beneath the brim of his hat.

After staring at the other man for a long moment, he abruptly nodded and said, “Hjøphiël, was it? I suppose we are partners, then.” He very pointedly made no mention of being startled or of his unimpressive descent as he stuck a gloved hand out.

The brunet took it with little aplomb. “A pleasure,” he noted matter-of-factly, just glad that he’d not encountered one of the girls that weren’t Nora first. “So, we were supposed to head north to some temple, which would be…” he gazed up at the sun, made a few curious hand gestures at it, then pointed in a seemingly random direction. “That way.”

Samael looked curiously at him, then shrugged. “Well, you seem to know what you’re doing, so lead on.”

“Alroighty roo,” at that, the broad-shouldered human rolled up his sleeves and started ambling off in that direction, drawing his pistol and keeping it at the ready as he did so. Calculating the direction of north based on the sun’s position in the sky wasn’t as difficult as he’d figured it’d be in practice - lucky considering he’d sold his compass along with most of the rest of his shit before getting into Beacon. That survival training was already paying off.

The snake Faunus rested his left hand on the hilt of his weapon, absently checking and re-checking that it was clear in its scabbard as he followed his partner. His right hand, meanwhile, dipped into his coat and emerged with a small Dust crystal clenched between the knuckles of his index and middle finger.

It wouldn’t do to be unprepared for ranged combat, after all.

\---

Hjøphiël pushed through a bush, annoyed at the lack of apparent trails in the forest thus far - and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of a massive, bear-like Grimm, glowing red eyes glaring out from beneath a bone white helmet-like skull protrusion, fetid breath hot on his face.

“...Shit,” he said before cursing in a manner most masculine as he scrambled away from the hell bear’s claw swipe, firing his pistol in the creature’s general direction while he fell onto his back.

Even as his partner was falling back, Samael was in motion, his hand aglow in crackling azure lightning. “Raitei no-SHIT!” The snake faunus cut off his incantation as the Ursa all but pounced on his partner, who displayed rather less acrobatic acumen than he’d been expecting, instead rolling out of the way of the bear-like Grimm’s repeated strikes.

Giving up the dramatics for a bad job, Samael settled for roaring wordlessly and bringing his hand down, releasing the unstable Dust crystal as a massive bolt of lightning came into being around it. The Dust-driven spell slammed into the beast’s back, driving it to its knees and cracking the bone armour plating where it struck.

When the creature was staggered, Hjøphiël stopped rolling and started unloading pistol rounds into its exposed belly with practised precision.

The Ursa roared in pain as it staggered to its feet, but then there was a blur of red, and one of its forelegs was just gone, as Samael unsheathed Desolation Amaterasu through the monster’s limb as he dashed by, before thrusting it into the side of the Ursa’s skull. There was a grinding noise, and the katana telescoped into a nodachi, its tip erupting from the other side with an explosion of ichor.

For a moment, both of them remained tense. But then, as the Grimm slumped down and began to dissolve, Samael pulled Desolation Amaterasu free and swung it to one side, splattering the foliage with already-atomizing ichor. Absently sheathing his weapon as it telescoped back to katana length, the belt-clad man ambled over to Hjøphiël and asked, “Are you uninjured? The beast took you by surprise, it would seem.”

“-I’m fine!” he asserted while rising to his feet, patting himself clean of dirt and stray grass blades as he did so. “It just caught me off guard, is all!” At that, he replaced the magazine of his pistol, which by all appearances was just a pistol, and holstered it. Holy crap, his training really didn’t apply to fighting Grimm.

Samael reached up and adjusted his fedora, which had come slightly askew during the heat of battle. “Worry not; I am certain that such things shall soon become commonplace in our lives, and you will dispose of far greater foes as a matter of course.” He tilted his head to look up at the sky, the brim of his hat mostly shading his pale countenance from the harsh rays of the sun. “...I don’t suppose you can reorient us towards our destination?”

At least Hjøphiël was trained for that.

\---

Ichabod passed a hand over a patch of wet grass right next to a ruined shrine of sorts. Through a series of other eyes, the man's gaze was also simultaneously locked into a torn trench a ways off, some fallen trees in the complete opposite direction, and another tree with a large slash on it.

"There was a fight here pretty recently." He remarked as he rose to his feet and he glanced at Trent. "I wanna say...five, seven minutes ago?"

“Probably,” the blond agreed, eying the damage as he kept an even pace towards the stone ruin. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he mostly ignored the damage. “But, as it stands, it’s not really our job to worry about that. Only grab the relics and split.”

"Well, we can't really tell if they dealt with whatever they found or led it elsewhere, but whatever the case, I think you're right." Ichabod agreed with a nod as he moved towards the pedestals at the shrine, eyeing each one.

He furrowed his brow when he saw that all but two had absolutely nothing on them before his attention turned to another pair making their way out of the woods.

“Sup,” the more normally dressed of the new pair addressed Trent and Ichabod, bro-chinning at them as he did so, ambling up to the relic stands along with his over-belted companion, who raised a hand in greeting but refrained from speaking.

As the man garbed in oceans of snakeskin belts approached the pedestals, though, his urine-gold eyes narrowed as they fixed on the “relics” that sat there. “...Shogi pieces?” He muttered, immediately recognizing the odd little chips of ceramic due to long years of weebery.

“I’d complain about how underwhelming these ‘relics’ are, but if I’m being completely honest, this feels cruelly apropo for some reason,” Hjøphiël grumbled as he ran a finger along the slide of his woefully inadequate pistol.

Samael let out a croaking cackle that sounded like a dozen lubed-up razor blades scraping together. “Aye, I understand why you might say such a thing, Hjøphiël.” His hand snaked out to grasp the small game piece and gave it a closer look. “Lance, huh?” He muttered upon seeing the marking denoting the piece’s function.”

Tossing the relic he’d claimed for their team up into the air, Trent shrugged, “Not like we can really expect them to go ham with these sorts of things. If there’s ever a year where the batch of Hunters is a wash, there’s a good chance the relics would be destroyed by the Grimm.” Catching it and shoving it into his pocket, the blond let out a yawn.

"Eh, if it works, it works." Ichabod sighed and shrugged before pointing his macuahuitl forwards, in the general direction of the cliff where they departed. "Let's go then, esses! We've got a whole four years to get to know each...other..."

Ichabod stopped and turned on his heels, raising his shield and looking behind the group with a focused grimace. As the other three turned to see what had caused the man to trail off, and as one, their veins turned to ice.

It had approached without a sound, despite being as tall as a house. Eyes like hellfire glinted from the shadows cast by its massive antlers, curving outward into dozens wicked, bone-white spears...only, their tips weren’t white, like the rest of the antlers. No, they were permanently stained with a grisly, reddish-brown substance that could only have been the gore of its past victims.

As it looked into their eyes and saw that they had seen it, its unmasked lips parted with a hiss of hot air, revealing a macabre menagerie of fangs. No rhyme or reason was present in that hellish maw save for one: brutality. These teeth weren’t for chewing or eating, but for laceration and savagery. Not a mouth at all, then, but just one more appendage whose sole purpose was to inflict suffering.

And the beast’s limbs weren’t spared such treatment, either. Where hooves should have been, there were instead wide, spade-like blades that dug deep furrows into the ground as the Grimm’s muscles bunched in anticipation. As the muscles on its back tensed, hundreds of tiny bone spikes scraped against one another in an orchestra of violence.

It.

Roared.

“MOOSE!” Trent and Hjøphiël screeched, falling into fighting stances at the sight of the great beast.

Ichabod and Samael blinked in unison. Normal moose didn’t exist on Remnant, did they?

“I mean Doomantler!” Hjøphiël corrected in a panic.

Rather than correct himself, Trent just shouted, “Who gives a fuck, we gotta-!”

The behemoth lowered its head and charged.


	5. KOMM, SÜßER TODD

“SCATTER!” Hjøphiël cried out as he bolted off to the side, diving behind… cover, a log, by the looks of it. Why he thought this was a good idea given that the hostile was a giant Grimm charging at full tilt.

Even as the word left his partner’s mouth, Samael was in motion, darting in the opposite direction. His right hand ripped Desolation Amaterasu from its sheath even as his left dove into the folds of his coat for a Dust crystal. The crimson gem glinted briefly as the black light of his Aura primed it for casting.

As the Doomantler charged, Trent let it come at him, suddenly shrinking in size before it could gore him. Dodging between its titanic legs, the blond shifted back to his normal size and grabbed one of the pillar-like limbs as he swung himself up and onto its side, driving his fist into its abdomen.

Regardless of Trent’s assault, it kept on barrelling right past where he’d been standing; Hjøphiël peeked up from behind his log cover, and his face was the face of terror before the Doomantler lowered its head, caught the log he was clinging to with its great bony protrusions, and promptly tossed it into the sky above - the Altesian screaming in an extremely masculine manner into the blue void above all the while.

Ichabod took the chance as its head was at its highest point to throw a slash at the creature's throat with a roar, barely nicking it through its thick, muscular flesh. At the same time, a roiling orb of obsidian-black flame impacted the flank of the beast opposite Trent, provoking a growl from the Grimm.

For a moment, it almost looked as if Samael’s attack had thrown the beast off-balance - though it quickly became clear that it was, in fact, attempting to crush Trent beneath the weight of its mass with a leap onto its side, snarling as it did so.

Using the momentum from the movement, the man in question pivoted over the Grimm’s body, yellow lines racing down the arm of the bodysuit he wore beneath his clothes. The glowing arm slammed into the beast’s back, electricity crackling as Trent launched himself away from the Doomantler with that attack.

Hjøphiël had started descending in the time it’d taken for Trent to throw himself from the mighty Grimm, and in something more akin to a fit of desperation than anything, started firing his pistol down at the monster while careening towards it.

He, unfortunately, proceeded to then slam face-first into its hide, and he rebounded back off, olive Aura flashing to life. The Doomantler, still on its side, wound up a leg and kicked him away and through a tree in an explosive display before it rolled to return to its hooved feet with a deep, aggravated huff. The log Hjøphiël had been hanging onto crashing into the earth behind it.

As his partner careened past him, Samael let his left arm go limp as he focused Aura through it. What little flesh protruded from his fingerless gloves bubbled and writhed before small gobbets of meat dripped from his skin and began burrowing into the ground, uncoiling as they went. By that time, though, Samael was already moving for the Grimm, Desolation Amaterasu raised before him in its nodachi form.

Leaping back slightly, Ichabod let out a growl of annoyance and seeing he didn't have enough force to get through, he extended the handle of Adios Arenas and slotted the club into the shield. With a burst of speed and a short laugh, he leapt high into the air, lifting up the morphed weapon behind his back, ready to slam it down on its head.

Only for the monster to rear back on its hind legs, followed by jabbing out with a front leg like a fucking boxer - punch-kicking the approaching Vacuan in the chest, cyan Aura flaring as a dagger-like hoof made impact and completely reversed his trajectory… right into another tree, culminating in another splintery explosion.

"Gave you that one…not gonna lie." The man groaned as he lifted a finger in the Doomantler's direction and picked himself up dusting off his sombrero.

“Then why are you lying?” Trent asked as he dropped in from the canopy, aiming an axe kick at the beast’s brow.

Unfortunately for him, it caught his leg with one of its antlers and threw him through a number of thorny bushes as he let out a string of curses, emerald flashes of light keeping him from taking too much damage.

Hjøphiël stumbled out of the treeline, huffing and tearing twigs out of his hair, glancing around with a disoriented look on his face.

By that time, Samael had reached the Grimm, and while his opening strike carved a none-too-shallow gash into its flank, the beast responded by driving its hind leg into his left shoulder, launching him ass over teakettle, landing in a patch of tall grass. No sooner had he landed, though, was he on his feet again, ramming Desolation Amaterasu into its scabbard and depressing a button on the side. Black aura flared where hilt met sheath.

Ichabod craned his neck from side to side, making loud cracking noises, then moved his torso low to the ground before charging to the Grimm's side, howling loudly as he did, before spinning on his heel to pick up momentum for a swing.

Sprinting out of the bushes, pulses of red lanced down his arm alongside the yellow, a spark of Aura setting them alight as fire and electricity sheathed Trent’s fist. Charging the Doomantler from the opposite side of Ichabod, he aimed to at least stagger it.

Hjøphiël blinked, then raised his sword and joined the charge - everyone was approaching from a different direction - the bastard Grimm couldn’t attack them all at once if they charged at the same time!

Samael let out a breath as he darted forward, Desolation Amaterasu sweeping from its scabbard, its crimson blade shrouded in black flame as it arced towards the Doomantler’s hind leg-

The beast’s knees buckled for a moment, and it jumped. The four lads all tracked the sudden movement with rising surprise on their faces - followed quickly by HOOVES.

The creature had leapt, and simultaneously kicked them all in the face while it was airborne - sending everyone explosively crashing back the way they’d come, into yet more trees.

Landing gracefully upon its knife-like hooves, the thing almost seemed to chortle at their situation, watching them come to a stop as the trees they’d each individually collided with fell to the ground with a series of loud crashes.

Samael’s burning weapon landed blade-first in that same patch of tall grass, setting it alight seconds before he had a chance to stop powering the Dust enchantment. The Faunus staggered to his feet and scooped up his sword, slamming his boot down on the rapidly catching blaze.

"¡Pinche hijo de puta! STOP THROWING US INTO THE TREES!" Ichabod screamed off the top of his lungs as he leapt to his feet and tossed his splinter-filled sombrero to the side.

Hjøphiël spat out a mouthful of leaves before despairing aloud: “I forgot that fucking moose can kick omnidirectionally!” he cried heroically as he rose to his feet on shaky legs.

“In that case, we must cripple it!” Samael replied, shaking his head to rid it of stars and readjusting his fedora. He clenched a fist at his side, Aura questing out and down...

The Doomantler’s low, demonic chuckling continued, and it almost seemed to begin vibrating where it stood. Head trembling like a paint shaker, picking up speed until it was blurring, and it let out a howl - antlers began to crack, almost like rapidly ageing paint…

Then, the bone-white velvet that had been coating its antlers began to sizzle before cascading off in every direction like meaty globules - burning and melting whatever they touched as the abomination unto the Lord SCREAMED.

“COVER!” Hjøphiël cried as he rolled over the tree he’d brought down when he was knocked back, ducking behind it as pits were burned into the deadfall by acidic flesh chunks. “FUCKING WEAPONIZED VELVET SHEDDING!? WHAT THE FUCK!”

Ichabod quickly hunkered down behind his shield, blocking the incoming projectiles and hearing a horrid hissing coming from the other side.

Samael, for his part, scraped the edge of Desolation Amaterasu along the mouth of its scabbard, black flame once more sparking into being —but this time, rather than a crackling bar of obsidian fire, his blade was embraced by a whirlwind of hellfire as he held it aloft. As the demonic flesh rained down, so to did Desolation Amaterasu fall like a guillotine, unleashing a miniature vortex of abyssal flame that consumed the monster’s sheddings. As he swung, he loudly intoned, “Final Secret Sword: Kagutsuchi!”

Pulling himself out of the treetop he’d been launched into, Trent let out a frustrated growl as he dropped onto the Grimm’s back, lightning crackling around his elbow as he drove it deep into the beast’s spine. “CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD, YE GUILTY!”

Head still blurring from the sheer amount of speed of its shaking, the creature bucked and cast Trent off, and it continued to SCREAM and started flailing about as if to prevent anyone else from jumping on it.

As the vortex of flame surrounding his weapon guttered out, Samael reached down once more with his Aura. The maggots born of his flesh and soul squirmed excitedly in response from where they’d burrowed, and he knew the time was now. Raising his voice to a shout, the Faunus pointed his sword as he bellowed, “Come then, monster! SHOW ME WHAT PASSES FOR WRATH AMONGST YOUR MISBEGOTTEN KIND!”

It stopped, turned to look at Samael dead-on with an eerie sudden onset silence - then, just as quickly, it charged, achieving top speed in what had to be a fraction of a second as it barrelled right at the edgelord with its burning antlers lowered - strips of still-sizzling acidic meat hanging from the spear-like points, billowing behind it like cursed flesh curtains.

Though none could see it past the collar of his coat, Samael smiled as he raised his free hand and closed it into a fist. In the space between one instant and the next, the ground beneath the Doomantler’s forelegs collapsed into a pit, a mass of squirming, bulbous pale sausages surrounding its hooves. Though its legs stopped abruptly as they broke with a sickening crack, the rest of its body had nowhere to go but forward.

Like a crashing NASCAR car, sheer momentum carried it forth - the creature, bellowing in surprise, confusion, and now pain crashed and flipped. Arcing through the air over Samael’s head, momentarily blotting out the sun above him with its incredible size, it careened in an uncontrollable mess of broken limbs and acidic flesh… right for Ichabod.

Rather than showing any concern, as he saw the falling goliath of a Grimm, his expression split into a toothy smirk. Firmly grasping his weapon, he spun and brought down on the ground, where it began to carve a trench on the dirt mid-motion. The green Dust crystal began shining brightly, letting out a stream of wind as a gout of flame came out of the macuahuitl part of his weapon.

"Let me show you,"

As the Doomantler's body was almost upon him, he swung upwards with all of his strength as there was a massive explosion beneath, pushing it forward with much more force than he could have ever managed.

"JUST HOW LUKEWARM THE HELL YOU CAME FROM TRULY IS!"

At his roar, steel met blackened flesh, the now red-hot fangs on the shield spun wildly and bit deep into the Grimm's throat, parting through its tough hide, then its steel-like muscles, then further, into its spine. It didn't seem like enough, but Ichabod just roared harder and pushed forward even as the weight of the body threatened to fling him back.

Until the Doomantler's neck finally gave in.

The body came to an unceremonious crashing stop shortly behind Ichabod, twitching a few scant times before all semblance of life faded from its abominable form.

The head, meanwhile, arced overhead, spinning wildly, then was spiked neck-first on an otherwise barren tree branch - creating the near picture-perfect image of a stuffed and mounted demonic moose head hung over a fireplace, tongue lolling out as it now rested overhead.

Silence fell, all present fellows standing quiet, taking in the incredibly surreal sight before them. The void of sound was broken by the click of a scroll’s camera function going off. “Neat,” Hjøphiël intoned.

Ichabod looked upon his work in silence before throwing his head back wildly and laughing like a complete loon.

"Eat shit, nature!" He screamed to the heavens as he raised his weapon with both hands and began shaking it up and down. "I win again, you absolute bit-!"

At that point, his weapon chose that moment to come apart, the chain sliding right off the shield and the lid cracking to pieces, revealing its internal mechanisms, while the bottom half of the hilt separated from the main body of the weapon. The hole left behind let out a small trickle of refined fire Dust to fall to the ground.

The Vacuan madman looked at the volatile material, then back at his mangled weapon, then back at the Dust.

"Shit."

Samael glanced at the other man, then remarked, “Well, that is unfortunate.”

\---

“-Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Kali Belladonna - surname given precedence to accommodate the team name - and Yang Xiao-Long. For the rest of your time at Beacon, you will serve together as team RWBY,” Ozpin announced to the auditorium later in the day.

Blake Belladonna made a concerted effort to keep her face completely blank - she’d actually almost forgot to introduce herself by a false name earlier when meeting her newfound teammates - she’d have to keep the fact that she was hiding here in mind going forth. Luckily, her family name was far from well-known...

The bow set atop her head twitched minutely, and she grimaced as she mentally reprimanded herself - she’d have to learn to express herself just using everything below the brow. Anything else could quickly result in… unpleasantries. Especially considering who her teammate was.

“Ruby Rose, you will lead team RWBY going forth.”

“WHAT!? NO! Is this a joke!?” Weiss Schnee demanded as she stomped her dainty foot petulantly beside the mysterious Belladonna.

“Ha!” Trent roared from where he was standing, enjoying the way that Schnee was continually pushed over.

Ruby, for her part, looked surprised but took the announcement with about as much grace as could be expected of the little hooded reaper.

“Oh Ruby, I’m so proud of you!” Yang, meanwhile, proclaimed as she leapt forth and embraced her little sister.

“Now, moving on… H-” Ozpin raised his hand to his face, glared when he realized that having written the name on his hand earlier wasn’t helping now, he turned to face Glynda Goodwitch off to his side. “How do I pronounce this name?”

She stared at him, her brow crinkled deep in thought, then she shrugged.

Ozpin was quiet for a moment before he pressed on regardless. “He-yofee-ul-”

“The ‘H’ is silent and the ‘J’ is hard!” Hjøphiël helpfully interjected from the side.

Blinking, the headmaster looked down at his hand, and then back to the young man. After a moment he asked, “If it’s Jophiel, why not spell it as such?”

“Atlesian,” Hjøphiël and Weiss both said at the same time, their gazes snapping to meet momentarily, the near-albino’s lingering for a few moments longer before refocusing on the matter at hand.

Shaking his head, Ozpin muttered, “Why couldn’t they keep it simple, like James?” Sighing, he refocused as he addressed the crowd. “Now then, Hjøphiël Vanta, Ichabod Sable, Samael Obsidian, and Trent Blackmore. Now, initially, we were going to fail all of you. You were the slowest, took the most roundabout path, and killed the fewest number of Grimm of any team.” He paused, savouring the looks on the face of everyone in the crowd. “But, you managed to slay a century-old Doomantler that was as much an institution as this establishment. If we hadn’t accepted you all, Peter would have rioted.” Slapping his hand against his podium as he nodded firmly, the headmaster continued unflinchingly, even as Glynda shook her head behind him. “You collected the Lancer Shogi pieces, and as such will serve as team HITS or Hyacinth, for the rest of their days. Hjøphiël Vanta shall act as the leader.”

“Wait, WHAT!?”Hjøphiël cried out, face twisting in horror and despair. “WHY-”

Cheerfully ignoring the brunet’s outburst, Ozpin continued, “It truly looks like things are shaping up to be an interesting year!” With that, he turned on his heel and walked off the stage, bopping Oobleck’s thermos from his hands and taking a swig as the professor in question and Glynda followed closely behind. To get his coffee thermos back, in Professor Oobleck’s case.

"Felicidades patron!" Ichabod hit Hjøphiël with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrow at him. "Or do you like jefazo more?"

“Interesting in the Chinese sense, perhaps,” Samael muttered, just loudly enough for his teammates to make out.

The rest of team HITS’ eyes snapped to Samael at that, eyes widening in surprise, and moreover, recognition at the namedrop of an Earthly concept.

Then they all remembered the utterance of “moose” from two team members - an animal that didn’t actually exist on Remnant. Then, then, the realization that the Spanish language also didn’t exist on Remnant.

Trent just smiled, happy to know that he wasn’t alone in this shitshow.

“...I think we all need to have a talk-” Hjøphiël began…

“Well, it may be an abortion of justice that my team’s leader has been so terribly misassigned,” Weiss started as she sauntered towards team HITS, stepping up alongside Hjøphiël, well within arm’s reach with no forewarning whatsoever, her nose stuck up in the air. “It is good to see that the Headmaster at least recognizes Atlesian superiority in… one… regard-”

Hjøphiël had turned as pale as Weiss normally was, eyes widening and pupils constricting even as he could see blood rushing to the cheeks of the little Schnee heiress out of his peripheral vision, turning to face him directly as a wide, goofy smile emerged on her face, her breath already becoming hot and heavy as she stared at him.

“...Y-yes,” the silver-haired young lady stuttered out, taking a shaky step towards Hjøphiël, which was met with him taking a mortified step back. “Such… a magnificent, indisputable example of superior Atlesian breeding…” she huffed, her smile stretched wide, uncomfortably so. “The pedigree of such a majestic stallion, beyond question, beyond the comprehension of mere, low-born commoners-!” Weiss began to ramble, eyes wide and openly mouth-breathing as she lunged at Hjøphiël, attempting to grope at his chest as he rapidly backed up and started to move the hell away.

His face was the very face of panic and suffering - beyond the descriptive prowess of a mere fan-fiction author, to be sure.

Off to the side, Trent leaned away from the suddenly obsessive girl, looking at her team as he made a face of confusion and disgust. Ichabod was in much the same state, unsure of what was happening, but having a good guess as to what it was.

“What the fuck.” Samael asked flatly, all pretense of flowery language utterly gone in the face of this repugnant thottery.

In an instant, Samael felt a glass rim pressing up against his belt-coat collar, approximately where his nose would be located. Nora Valkyrie was holding a glass jar over her head to present it to his face. “Swear jar, insert lien, swearer!” she demanded of him.

Samael blinked slowly, regarding the ginger short stack as though she were some manner of exotic beast, then rolled his eyes and dug into one of the seemingly infinite pockets on the inside of his coat. After a moment, his hand reemerged and deposited a Lien card into the jar, which he noted was full of assorted denominations of Lien cards...as well as a single, golden coin?

“Is...is that a Lien coin?” Samael questioned, bewildered. “Those went out of production before the Great War!”

Nora merely smiled and shook the jar, causing a jingling noise as the coin, probably worth more than the auditorium they were standing in, clinked against the sides of the jar cheerfully.

Samael blinked again, then shook his head and looked away, exchanging a commiserating look with Lie Ren before turning his gaze back to the ravening albino who was currently attempting to merge her face with his leader’s. The Faunus let out a sigh as he started to stride towards his intensely distressed partner.

Yang slid up next to Trent as they observed Weiss’s frankly disgusting behaviour, the former remarking, “She really wants to see if he can stud, huh?”

“She just wants to get her stallion into a stable relationship so she can ride his baloney pony till she breaks it,” Blackmore retorted, smiling cruelly as they enjoyed the scene.

The blonde let out a cackle, and cheered, “Go for it Weiss-cream, see if you can’t melt his heart, seeing as he clearly reheated your shrivelled up prune of one.”

Weiss eagerly accepted the encouragement, making clawing motions as she cackled like a hyena in heat at Hjøphiël as genuine terror had completely overtaken him by that point, trying and failing to escape.

Leaning back towards Yang, Trent declared quietly, “We’re going to hell for this.”

“Where?” Yang quirked her head at him in confusion.

The blond clicked his tongue as he corrected himself. “Sorry, regional term for the Grimmlands, and the myth of the Grimm Abyss.”

“Ah,” Yang nodded, just accepting his bullshit without a second thought. “Well, it’ll probably be fun, if enjoying this is what gets us there.”

“-My girl!” Jaune cried from the floor where Pyrrha Nikos had accidentally punched him to upon the announcement that he was the leader of Team JNPR, pronounced ‘Juniper.’ “He’s stealing my girl!” the blond shouted, pointing accusingly at Hjøphiël as he attempted - and pointedly failed to get away from Weiss, who was so goddamned fast that she was actually keeping him boxed in and preventing him from escaping her immediate presence. “Well- well fine then! If he’s gonna steal my girl, then he can have fun trying to find his way to an… air… strip… joint without a wingman! I’ll even stop that other guy if he tries to be his wingman!”

Jaune crossed his arms in front of his chest as he pouted and Pyrrha attempted to comfort him with shoulder pats and an entirely ignored view of her cleavage as she leaned over towards him.

Ichabod stared at the scene the thirsty little snowflake was causing, weighing the situation and his options. On one hand, his boss was now in trouble and clearly not wanting any part in everything that was going on. On the other, Weiss was currently making a massive ass out of herself and he was just basking in the sheer schadenfreude of seeing a Schnee in that position. His sense of justice clashed with his vindictiveness. Unfortunately for everyone that day, the latter won out.

The entire auditorium had fallen silent upon the sudden change in Weiss’s behaviour but had quickly turned to whooping and hollering as they encouraged her, clearly finding the entire situation hilarious in the extreme.

“Hey, Ichabod hey Ichabod hey Ichabod!” Ruby suddenly interrupted, grabbing onto the Vacuan’s poncho and leaping up and down into his line of sight as a burst of rose petals billowed out and swept over Weiss and Hjøphiël - the former of whom let out a pleasured sound at the appearance of something as romantic as rose petals to perfectly punctuate the scene. “How’d you guys kill a Doomantler, how’d you guys kill a Doomantler!” she excitedly demanded, hopping in place like a tiny little piston of infinite energy. “Was it your Semblances? I bet it was your Semblances! You never told me about your Semblances, tell me about your Semblances!”

Blake had just taken the sudden onset of bullshit as her cue to leave, or at least drift back into the crowd, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than was necessary.

Ichabod chuckled and turned his back on the cringey scene at his side, where Samael had caught up to Weiss and put a hand on her shoulder even as she’d backed Hjøphiël up against a pillar, and directed his attention towards his weapon obsessed friend. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. I'd love for something crazy like being able to explode things all the time without dust or fire lasers from my eyes, but my Semblance is more of a utility thing."

“Utility? That’s all my Semblance seemed to be at first, but then I realized all the ways I could use it in a fight!” Ruby asserted with a little fist pump. “What’s yours? Show me it, I’ll bet there’s all kinds of ways we could weaponize it!”

"Well, I can create eyes that I can see out of on surfaces I'm in contact with." He explained with a shrug. "Pretty handy, gives me three hundred and sixty-degree vision if I bother putting some all over my clothes, but it's not like I can use it for something more direct in a fight."

Ruby stared at Ichabod, then planted her hands on her hips, a smug little grin appearing on her face. “Eye don’t believe you,” she declared cheekily.

“Boo!” Yang expressed her displeasure with the pun in question. “Get better material!”

"Hah, you don't say?" he raised an eyebrow at the taunt before moving both hands behind his back. "Well, alright. I'll use my Semblance and tell you what's behind my back on the count of three, alright?"

Ruby just stared at him excitedly.

"Alright," He clenched his hands, generating eyes on his palms and pointing them behind him. "One, two, thre-"

As he opened his palms, he caught sight of something he’d have much rather not have and the sensory input made him choke and die inside. Weiss, who’d been attempting to bodily climb Hjøphiël when Samael had seized her shoulder, had turned to, rather ironically, hiss in his face. In the process, her skirt had ridden up a bit, giving poor Ichabod an eyeful of her lacy unmentionables.

With her attention firmly caught on Samael, Hjøphiël had started to inch away, fearful of moving too quickly lest the motion reattract her immediate focus.

Almost as one, Samael and Weiss took notice of Icabod’s hands, the former choking as his eyes bulged. The latter, on the other hand, let out a noise not altogether different from the roar of the Doomantler they’d fought and jerked her arm away from Samael violently.

Her elbow crashed directly into his face, causing his head to snap back, his fedora to fly off, and his collar to come undone, blood gushing out of one nostril as the unexpected strike bypassed his passive Aura defence and broke his nose.

Even as brilliant scarlet stained the pristine white of Weiss’ dress, the Faunus had activated his Aura to heal the damage, but in his haste, his Semblance activated. From the blood that had splattered onto Weiss grew tiny, bulbous masses of flesh, tiny maggots that quickly began secreting a filmy, viscous fluid as they dissolved and devoured the non-living matter it had landed on—namely, Weiss’s dress.

As shit started to go down, Hjøphiël had taken the chance to bolt, creating distance to the tune of half the stage - enough to get Weiss out of his horrible Semblance’s area-of-effect and hopefully return her to normal.

Then, when he stopped and turned back to see what was happening, his eyes widened in somehow yet more horror as everything had, somehow, somehow, gotten even worse than it already had been.

By that point, the maggots had engorged themselves to the size of fingers, and Weiss had frozen in place.

The auditorium had gone absolutely silent, so the sound of Weiss’ dress finally giving up the ghost and falling to the ground, covered in meaty maggots that twitched and writhed, their bell-shaped bulbous ends waving cheerfully in the air as they devoured the poor girl’s clothing.

There was a beat, then several things happened at once.

“Fucking hell.” Trent let out a curse as he started forward, reaching out and bodily putting Ichabod over his shoulder, turning to Samael immediately afterwards and slinging him under his arm. “Can’t take you three anywhere, it seems…”

Yang and Nora had dived in front of Weiss, and even Jaune had done so as well, holding his arms out to help block everyone’s view of the silver-haired heiress. “Go, show’s over, everyone screw off, now!”

“FUCK. OFF.” Yang punctuated Jaune’s demand to the crowd as Nora backed up to shield more of Weiss’ figure as was possible.

Blake, having been notably absent beforehand, practically materialized behind Weiss, wrapping a curtain around her, a complicated expression of horror tinged with something...else on her face. The disguised Faunus spoke no words, but as her eyes flicked between Ichabod, Samael, and Hjøphiël, they were full of judgement.

Ruby had been shocked still, mouth hanging open and uncomprehending of what had just happened. Ren, meanwhile, was critically watching everything, taking in every happening with a keen eye, as everyone else was running high on adrenaline, Pyrrha had charged off to report what was happening to the teachers, and someone would need to be able to give a reliable eye-witness report to the teachers, absolutely none of whom were present.

Hopping off the stage, not minding how it jostled his passengers, Trent barked at the stock still horde of teens. “If you lot aren’t out of here before me, I’ll have Samael leave maggots in all of your beds, now get!”

“Jesus Christ why.” Samael groaned from under Trent’s arm, blood still dripping from his nostril.

The eyes on Ichabod's hands had long since vanished, and his real ones were just glassy and empty as everything that was happening caught up to him. Fucked up at the starting line, as always; the story of both of his lives was like poetry. It rhymed.

“Y-” Weiss’ entire body had turned red, from a very different emotion compared to what she’d been experiencing previously. “You, you fucking…” she grimaced, growling through clenched teeth as fury rose in her chest like a wildfire. “GO FUCK YOURSELVES YOU FUCKING PERVERTED TEAM SHIT!” the little, humiliated lady screamed at the top of her lungs for all still in the auditorium to hear.

“Understandable!” Trent called back, still trying to get his teammates out of the hell they’d built.


	6. Me and the Boys Reuniting for a Shitty Isekai Adventure in a Dumb Fantasy World

“While I did say that this was looking to be an interesting year, I didn’t mean for an incident like this to occur,” Ozpin declared from behind his desk, sipping at his coffee as he looked over the team sitting on the other side of it.

“In my—no, our defence,” Samael replied shakily, dabbing the now-dried blood from his slowly healing nose, “I do not think any of us meant for this to occur. I certainly did not intend to trigger my Semblance when Schnee inadvertently broke my nose.”

"Regardless of anyone's intent, you all still caused quite the scene." Glynda Goodwitch remarked while standing behind the headmaster, on his left-hand side, looking rather irate. "What were you thinking, deciding to keep standing right in the middle of the stage?"

Ichabod kept averting his eyes when the woman stared at them, his brain still completely shut down and unable to give any replies.

“Honestly, we were mostly just caught up speaking with the other teams and getting to know them. I don’t think anyone could have predicted an-” Trent stopped as the blonde woman’s icy glare turned to him, and he settled for shrinking in his seat.

Putting his mug back on his desk, the headmaster decided to speak. “While it was a rather unfortunate series of events, there’s little we can do about them at this juncture. Your Semblances are a part of you, but not the things that should define your lives or dynamics in regards to your fellow Huntsman and Huntresses.” Levelling his gaze upon each of them and staring them down, he made sure to meet their eyes before continuing, “Now, I don’t expect magic from you. Any sort of reconciliation between you and the other teams will take time; however, I do expect that you will have formed proper working relationships with them by the time you finish here at Beacon.”

Hjøphiël had grimaced at the headmaster’s assertion of how their Semblances shouldn’t define them.

Glynda noticed, glowered and noted to him in a critical tone, “It is incredibly poor form to so pointedly remain separate from the team you are the leader of in such a situation, Vanta,” she declared harshly. “Form up with your allies at once-”

“Step back a metre, then,” Hjøphiël interjected flatly.

Glynda did not seem amused by that in the least, already motioning to step forward as her face twisted in understandable anger - only to be stopped by Ozpin’s outstretched hand, the headmaster’s amber eyes locked firmly on the leader of team HITS.

“And why pray tell, should she do that, Mister Vanta?” He asked matter-of-factly.

“Because my Semblance will make her behave as Schnee did in the auditorium a few minutes ago if she gets within four metres of me,” Hjøphiël replied just as dryly.

Glynda’s brow raised, and she gave Ozpin a concerned look.

“Then why not simply deactivate it?” the sharply-dressed headmaster asked.

“It. Doesn’t. Turn. Off.” Hjøphiël said in an extraordinarily pained tone, face twisted into a tormented grimace.

Ozpin froze at that, eyes widening as he regarded the brunet quietly and critically for a few moments. “...That would explain much of your behaviour up to this point,” he observed. “And it seems like something you should have reported when you enrolled in Beacon.”

“Indeed,” Glynda said in an unreasonably dry tone, staring at the incredibly negligent team leader past heavily lidded eyes.

Samael looked over at Hjøphiël, a grimace of sympathy on his face. His Semblance didn’t seem so bad, by comparison.

...Though yeah, the man absolutely should’ve reported that to the faculty. Hopefully, that wasn’t indicative of the way his partner would be leading the team going forward.

Trent just shrugged, having expected something along those lines, given how the man had acted. Although, Ozpin was definitely correct about the fuck-up in not telling the school about how problematic his Semblance was.

Ichabod just numbly nodded, barely paying attention to both the man's misfortune and negligence.

“...I’m used to it being accounted for and accommodated,” Hjøphiël said sheepishly. “Otherwise, I have no excuse.”

“Though it may be easy to point the finger, admitting to such a damning fault is frequently an arduous task entirely on its own,” Ozpin said as he leaned back in his seat, gazing at the young man thoughtfully. “Shocking as it may seem, this is not the first time we have had to deal with a Huntsman with an uncontrollable Semblance. His was, believe it or not, more nefarious than even yours is, given how it could allow him to intermingle with open crowds for extended periods of time openly. Made worse by the fact that it did not discriminate who was affected when it did inflict itself upon those around him.”

Hjøphiël blinked in surprise, eyes widening considerably. “How did you manage it?” he asked, a small tinge of hope present in his voice.

“Initially? By segregating him from others to a certain extent. The effect seemed to only get truly bad after a long period of constant exposure, and would fade or ‘reset’ after enough time passed without direct contact.” The grey-haired man took a long sip of his coffee, visibly savouring the drink before continuing. “After that proved to be a rather remarkably inconvenient trait for his teammates during periods they shouldn’t have had to do without him? An artifact which suppressed a person’s Semblance when used, something which would bind itself to their very soul - should have become an integral part of him from that day forward.”

“Are there any more!?” Hjøphiël cried, eyes wide in naked desperation.

Beside him, Trent leaned away from him as he murmured, “Keep your pants on, dude, holy fuck.”

Ozpin took another ponderous sip of his coffee before responding. “I can see about providing you what you need to get your troublesome Semblance under control, Mister Vanta. Though I must admit, it will take some time - anywhere between a few days to a few weeks.”

“But you can get one?” The Atlesian pressed, his entire body tensing in anticipation.

“I don’t see why not,” Ozpin nodded in affirmation, his mug held in front of his mouth. “For the time being, we will simply put out a general advisory for the general academy population to keep their distance - four metres, was it?” Hjøphiël nodded eagerly. “Yes. Then I shall be sure to alert you the moment the artifact arrives, and hopefully, this matter will not severely impact the rest of your time at Beacon.”

“I will send a message to your scroll regarding your seating arrangements for your classes by morning, Vanta,” Glynda declared as she typed away at the scroll wedged into the crook of her arm. “Until then, practice good social distancing habits, understood?”

“Understood!” Hjøphiël’s heels clicked together as he, inexplicably, stood at attention, saluting the woman with a wide grin on his face - which he ‘smoothly’ attempted to correct into a motion of running his hand through his hair with a nervous chuckle.

Ozpin and Glynda stared at the young man, shared a knowing look, then shifted their attention to the rest of the team.

“I trust that with this newfound understanding, we will find ourselves bereft of any further incidents in the near future?” the headmaster asked.

“I hope to any god that might listen we do,” Trent answered, leaning back in his seat.

Samael nodded firmly. “I certainly am not eager for a repeat of this travesty.”

"Unless someone deliberately ignores the warning, I don't think so," Ichabod noted duly.

“Very good,” Ozpin clapped his hands together with a nod of his head. “In that case, it might be wise for you four to retire to your assigned quarters for the night. Check your messages on your scrolls; your room number should be within.”

“That is all, dismissed,” Glynda declared as she continued tapping away on her scroll furiously.

And so, the boys rose from their seats and departed Ozpin’s office, not looking forward to their long trek back down the fuckmassive stairs leading down from the top floor of the central Beacon tower-

“The elevator is working, by the way,” the headmaster called out to the four, who stopped, looked aside at the closed elevator doors with the ‘out of order’ sign hanging from them, and quirked their eyebrows. “I put those signs up when I want to deter people from bothering me with inane matters in the middle of the day. Nobody wants to climb a twenty-five story tall tower by stair unless they truly have to, after all,” he asserted with a wink, holding his coffee cup up before taking a long sip from it.

Trent nodded, the bud of respect that had been planted in his heart blossoming into a great tree of respect.

Samael snorted, albeit one that was a bit wetter than he’d like due to his still-crooked nose. He couldn’t blame the man for such a tactic; teenagers were constant sources of inane bullshit, and curating the number of people who visited him was just good sense.

...That being said, he could and did, blame the Headmaster for only revealing this fact to them after they’d been forced to climb that many stairs.

For his part, Ichabod only really focused on that particular tidbit and held back the urge to give the man a one-finger salute before leaving.

Hjøphiël was too darned thrilled by the notion of his Semblance going away to be upset by the idea that they’d climbed twenty-four stories by foot.

As the team descended in the elevator, Ozpin looked up from his coffee to Glynda and asked, “So, it’s legal for me to shelter an Atlesian deserter, right?”

“The fact that you have to ask…” Glynda just sighed as she continued making arrangements on her scroll.

\---

“...Jesus fucking Christ,” Hjøphiël growled. “Where the fuck is room 999!?”

Team HITS was wandering through the halls of Beacon Academy, mercifully empty by this time of the night. They’d walked up and down the halls for a good hour now, growing increasingly irate with each moment they were seemingly lost.

Staring down at his scroll, Trent noted, “Well, Ozpin offered us directions from the room we’re closest to, but he says there is no room 666, despite us standing outside it.”

“Well,” Samael mused, staring at the numerals, “either Beacon is haunted by a particularly unimaginative spectre, or some hallway brigand decided it would be amusing to flip our room’s nameplate upside down.”

Ichabod stared at the plate intently for a second, then turned to look at one of the rooms beside the one they stood in front of.

"Thought science: what if it's the second?" He proposed with a shrug. "Adjacent room's 998, and the thing does look misaligned from all the others."

At that, Hjøphiël held his scroll up to the door… and it paired, the electronic lock disengaged with no further trouble. “Well, guess that answers that,” he declared as he swung the door open and boldly strode inside.

Shrugging, Samael followed him into the room. Ichabod did much the same, tossing his sombrero to the floor and quickly claiming the bed next to the right side wall and plopping down on top of it unceremoniously.

"Wake me when you need me, lads." He said while raising a hand slightly and pointing upwards. "The second half of today was really full of horsedickery and I don't even want to consider how tomorrow's gonna go either."

“Don’t you try and weasel out of this talk, you Mexican’t,” Trent immediately declared, noting which bed had his bag sitting on it. “Don’t think all that Spanish you were throwing around went unnoticed.”

“You noticed that, too, did you?” Samael inquired, tossing his fedora and his belt-coat onto his bed, revealing a second, partially see-through trench coat made of wire mesh, to the muted horror of his teammates. “Would I be remiss in assuming that my earlier comment did not go unnoticed either?”

"Yeah, yeah, we're all Earthlings, whoop-de-fucking-doo." Ichabod retorted while waving them off without even bothering to move his face from the cushiony surface. "We can now toss around old memes, and someone will actually get them, how great."

“We also know for a fact that we’re not alone in this bullshit crazy fantasy world now, you border-hopping little shitheel,” Hjøphiël crossed his arms over his chest in bemusement, then his eyes went wide as he looked aside with worry. “Wait, am I still an ethnic, can I still say shit like that? Oh shit, I’d better not have had my casual racism pass revoked during the switchover…”

“Cry me a fucking river, Joe,” Trent retorted, shaking his head after having realized just who Hjøphiël actually was. “It’s so terrible that you need to fear saying the name of H.P. Lovecraft’s cat.”

Hjøphiël’s eyes practically crossed at that statement, confusion plain on his face for a moment as he turned to address the blond-

Only to be cut off as Samael blinked. “Hold there a moment—you know what, no. Fuck it. No flowery bullshit right now. I thought I recognized the name, but Trent? Is that actually you, you Iron Cross-bearing fuck?”

“I don’t have them anymore; no one’s here to airdrop them to me,” the blond replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, what the fuck is this shit?" Ichabod said after his attention was thoroughly captured and he had to turn back to the group. "Ok, the whole thing about not being alone in this world? That was horseshit. At least it would have been that way if we apparently didn't already know each other. Jesus fucking Christ, what!?"

“...So was your name already Trent Blackmore here, or did you, like, change your name when you bamfed in?” Hjøphiël asked the blond, raising an eyebrow at his fellow.

The former Canadian shrugged. “Already was, I was happy to roll with it. Not too happy about where I came to…”

Samael quirked an eyebrow. “Wait, ‘bamfed in’? My memories of being Johan slowly returned as I grew up.” He cupped his chin. “Is that why I don’t look like the original me…?”

"Yeah, I also bamfed in." Ichabod shrugged. "I would have rather not, but here we are…"

“I’m in the same boat as Ichy and Joe, sorry Sam,” Trent added with his own shrug.

“...So, Samael, by the sounds of it, properly reincarnated and had his old life come back to him over the course of his youth,” Hjøphiël had pointed at the snake-man, then himself. “I’m pretty sure I got dumped in this body when the kid starved to death back in Mantle, and y’all…?” he motioned over Ichabod and Trent.

"Apparently, the actual Ichabod was a fucking idiot and thought it'd be a bright idea to grow eyes inside of his skull." He shrugged. "Woke up on...uh."

His face paled, and he began pulling at the collar of his poncho. "Actually, you guys don't need to know that part."

“We definitely do, you coward,” Trent replied, looking at the former Mexican. Then the blond flushed and then sighed. “After he got… choked to death by an over-enthusiastic client for his legal shota dating service. I basically shook her down for all she was worth in exchange for not reporting that she killed me.”

The other three stared at him quietly, blinking owlishly once before Hjøphiël responded. “His legal what.”

“My Semblance lets me shrink down to the size and shape of a child, the me before I arrived decided to run a legal shota dating service,” Trent answered, deciding that his own semblance was way less embarrassing than theirs. “It might be weird, but hey, it got me paid.”

"...Putting aside the questionable legality of Trent's business, where do we go from here?" Ichabod asked.

“To bed, preferably.” Samael rejoined with a yawn, one that was interrupted by a disgusting pop as his nose finally snapped back into place. “All things being said, Ichabod had the right idea; I’m pooped.”

"How fucking dare you steal my idea," Ichabod complained before letting himself fall into his bed again, not even bothering to go inside the covers. "Night, all y'alls."

“Yeah, we can finish relaying each other’s dark and tragic backstories in the morning or something,” Hjøphiël declared as he flopped onto his designated sleeping spot, dropping face-first into his pillow. “Mrf-Grf,” his muffled voice grumbled out.

Trent slipped into his own bed and killed the lights by throwing his shoe at the light switch.


	7. The Quiet Ones

The boys, after a brief, but mercifully uninterrupted rest, woke the following morning, got dressed, and proceeded out the door to the cafeteria.

“...Aren’t we forgetting something?” Hjøphiël asked as the door to their collective room shut behind them, adjusting the tie of his prim and proper school (and optional) uniform.

"Probably, I feel like it was something we talked about last night, but I'm sure it's not important." Ichabod shrugged as he followed behind, idly looking at his sombrero before tossing it back to the room. "That aside, I gotta say, these uniforms are pretty snazzy. Not gonna wear the suit jacket when I have a perfectly good poncho, but hey..."

Rolling his shoulders inside his jacket, Trent shrugged. “Hey, free clothes are free clothes. Not gonna catch me dead in a tie unless it’s a wedding, though.”

“Amen to that,” Samael remarked with a yawn, having already cast aside both the neckwear and the suit jacket, replacing them with both of his trenchcoats and his fedora.

“Force of habit,” Hjøphiël said in turn as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, ensuring they were just so.

“We get it, big boy,” the blond amongst them remarked, grinning as he cracked his knuckles. “As for what we’re forgetting… if we forget, did it really matter in the end?”

“Considering my track record with memory…” Samael trailed off with another literally face-splitting yawn. “Eh. If it’s important, one of us will remember eventually.”

"Meh, let's just go get breakfast. The earlier the better." Ichabod dismissed the notion of remembering. "We got more urgent things to worry about, like encountering Schnee after that entire...incident yesterday."

“I would be extremely surprised if Schnee, let alone most of the other students, decided to interact with us for some time,” Trent replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh no, that's what I'd love. If we just get left alone in our little corner and no one ever wants to talk with us, that's fine." The Vacuan man said with a shrug. "I just know my luck and I get the impression that someone will try to fuck with us because we've already went and singled ourselves out like that."

“If they try, we push back. This is a school for Hunters; if they expect us to take shit quietly, then they deserve what they get,” the blond retorted.

Samael gave a small frown. “You’re right, but I don’t have to like it.”

Ichabod chuckled in response. "Man, it's just like I'm back in Vacuo. Fantastic."

At any rate, the group proceeded to partake in breakfast.

\---

“Should probably be disconcerted about the perfectly circular berth that’s being given to us here,” Hjøphiël started, glancing around the great feasting hall that was packed, save for the perfect empty space left between HITS and literally everyone else despite being seated in the middle of the room. “But hey, everyone’s respecting the four-metre rule. I ain’t gonna complain,” he finished as he upturned a maple syrup container onto his pile of pancakes.

"I, for one welcome being wrong and just getting uncomfortably...ignored? Nah, not the right word." Ichabod replied as he began cutting into a pancake of his own. "Here's to hoping it stays like that."

“HEY VANTA, HEY VENTA, HEY MISTER VANTA!” Nora Valkyrie cried out as she leapt into the scene and onto Hjøphiël like a frigging howler monkey, feet and hands planted on his back as she stooped over him and smiled wide at him from her upside-down vantage point. “Are you gonna finish your pancakes?” she asked of the confectionaries the man in question hadn’t even actually touched yet.

“Good job jinxing it, Dichabod,” Trent declared around a piece of bacon, casually cutting up his pancakes as he prepared to eat them as quickly as he could.

Samael paused, knife in hand, as he regarded the scene in front of him. “...Your Semblance’s effects are instantaneous, correct Hjøphiël?”

The Atlesian blinked, glanced aside at Samael, and realized that nobody had seen the redhead invading his personal space to no ill effect before the entrance exam. “Oh, don’t worry about it, she seems immune to it for some reason,” he shrugged as he moved to cut into his pancakes, and cringed when his fork and knife just scratched the bare plate. “Wha- OY!” he cried out as he lunged up and grabbed the rolled stack partially hanging out of Nora’s mouth.

“Dmfn’t sheigh nrf!” Nora asserted incomprehensibly past the mouthful of pancake she was trying to swallow whole like a fuckin’ duck or something - still balancing herself on his back like a monkey effortlessly.

“Nora! No!” Ruby blew in with a burst of flower petals that billowed out and got everywhere, sticking to random student’s pancakes and eliciting a chorus of groans. “Stop that! Hjøphiël made it super clear that girls have to stay at least four metres away from him all the time! You’re being mean, he can’t help that he’s a gyroscope!”

At that, Yang slid in behind Ruby, at least four metres away from Hjøphiël just as instructed, leaned in, raising a hand to her ear and whispered something to her.

“Oh,” Ruby nodded. “I’m sorry, not gyroscope, I meant gynecologist!”

Even Nora stopped and stared at Yang along with everyone else at that. Yang, for her part, had a shit-eating grin for a moment, then seemed to realize that was actually a pretty mean thing to do to her little sister, rapidly growing sheepish at the newfound attention.

“I mean, one must admit,” Trent noted, carefully drowning his pancakes in syrup. “Hjøe’d make mad bank as a gynecologist.”

“Hey! I was planning on making that joke!” Yang cried out in righteous fury. “You baaaaa-iscuit!” she corrected her near-on curse.

Nora, in turn, returned the swear jar to the ethereal void which seemed to exist in her lower back somewhere.

“Yes, I am an absolute snack, I know,” the blond said as he nodded to his female counterpart. “Besides, you snooze you lose, dear Yang.”

Samael blinked at the menagerie of lunacy before him, then shook his head. “It is entirely too early for this.” He punctuated the end of his sentence by driving his butterknife through a stack of pancakes seven flapjacks high, unhinging his jaw to its full forty-five-centimetre width, and cramming the entire tower of bread and syrup down his gullet. The knife came free of his mouth completely clean.

“Heeeeeeey there, buuuuddy,” Nora slid up into Samael’s field of view, from under the table, having apparently disembarked from Hjøphiël’s back at the sight of something else which demanded her attention.

Samael arched a thin, greasy eyebrow. “...Yeeessss?”

“You ate the pancakes,” she started. “All the pancakes, at once.” The little nordic redhead lunged out, grabbed his collar, and pulled herself in uncomfortably close with a manic glint in her eyes. “Teach me,” she demanded.

“It is not an ability the humans would teach you,” Samael cautioned with mock-seriousness, “the Faunus side is a path to abilities many would consider...unnatural.”

“Nora, please don’t bother HITS too much,” Lie Ren requested of the pint-sized perpetual motion machine, having stood up from his team’s table to try wrangling her back. “They’ve been through a lot, and they’d probably appreciate some breathing room.”

“What? Naaaah, that’s dumb,” Nora countered with an exaggerated wave of dismissal. “Best way to get over bad stuff happening is to have as much fun as possible to forget about it!”

“Sometimes allowing the dust to settle is the wisest course of action to take, Nora,” Ren countered with a sigh, placing his hands on the shorter girl’s shoulders and moving to direct her back to her team’s table.

In response, Nora just blew a raspberry at Ren’s insistence on being reasonable, though she went along without serious resistance.

Meanwhile, Yang had apparently dragged Ruby off when nobody was paying attention to them. Team HITS’ status as social pariahs was set in stone, it seemed. Trent just waved cattily after them, his mouth full of pancake and bacon.

Samael shook his head as he watched the two pairs go. “I suppose it is for the best; I am not yet ready to take on an apprentice.”

"It's better that way. It'll be for the best if we keep our heads down and don't call any more attention to ourselves." Ichabod mused as he silently munched on a pancake.

\---

“Come, COME, Team HITS!” roared Professor Peter Port as they filed into the classroom amidst their classmates, tactically keeping distance from any girls with a minimum of effort for obvious reasons. “Let me take a look at you, dashing heroes that conquered the mountainous task of slaying a century-old Doomantler!” The boisterous, rotund man beckoned to the four eagerly, completely oblivious to how they were dying inside.

"Why this?" Ichabod wheezed out.

“Because we can’t have nice things,” Samael muttered back.

Trent looked around the class, unsure of just how they should react in the face of the portly professor's proclamation.

Said professor was looking up the rows of desks at them expectantly, arm still outstretched theatrically as they stood there, frozen.

Needless to say, all eyes were squarely upon them, once again.

“Is there something you need us for, sir?” Trent asked, eying the professor as he considered whether or not he should have just gone back to bed after breakfast.

“Come down, come down!” The man insisted, waving them forward. “I have something for you all, to commemorate your achievement!” He gestured grandly towards his desk, on top of which laid a lumpy object covered by a tarp.

Trent tried to argue, especially when he considered their current social status. “Sir, we’ve not done anything worthy of commemor-”

“NONSENSE!” the portly professor bellowed, bringing his hand down in a chop that actually created a small breeze in their direction. “That old brute has been a thorn in Beacon’s side since our fine institution was founded, and you four ripped that thorn out and cauterized the wound!”

The man grew ever more animated as he continued to speak, pacing the room and heaping praises on team HITS that none present believed they deserved, least of all HITS themselves.

“You each showed bravery, gumption, skill, and cunning during that fight, from your flanking maneuvers to your quick reactions, to say nothing of the spectacular gambit that ended the monster’s life!” At this, Port clicked the button on a remote that he’d produced from somewhere, turning on a projector. A stark image was painted on the wall opposite the projector: namely, the grisly scene of the Doomantler’s demise.

The picture Hjøphiël had taken of the Grimm’s head impaled on a tree branch with its tongue lolled out, its broken body lying at the base, Ichabod just visible on the edge of the frame, still in his kick-ass execution pose.

The Vacuan madman's face paled as he looked upon the picture. He certainly had no regrets about having landed that blow as perfectly as he did, but he was considerably more concerned about the places where the picture would go. He made a silent note to ask the professor if he posted the image on Scrollbook or something.

Port wiped a genuine tear from his eye as he gazed at the picture almost lovingly. “Truly inspiring, my boys. SO inspiring, in fact,” he turned away from the projection reluctantly to grasp the tarp on his desk, “that I had to make you THIS!” With a jerk, the tarp was torn away, revealing a meticulously crafted, to-scale mounted replica of the Doomantler’s head, complete with realistically textured and removable shedded velvet.

Port poked a button on the side of the mounting, and the replica’s eyes flashed bright red and a familiar cry echoed from the thing’s throat.

Trent’s mouth pulled into a horrific grimace as he tried to keep from cringing at the sight. “You… you really didn’t have to, sir.”

Samael, in spite of himself, found the thing hella metal and gave the professor an appreciative nod, which the man returned.

“Of course I didn’t have to,” Port replied jovially, “but it’s not every day that such a venerable Grimm is slain, doubly so by a team in initiation! It’s only right that your first trophy be this one! The first of its kind in Vale, at that!”

Hjøphiël cocked his head at that, scratching the side of his head as he piped up. “Wait, why is this the first of its kind? It’s a replica, right? Can’t these just be made whenever someone wants one?”

Everyone in the room, upon having claimed their seats, turned to give the Atlesian a queer look, visibly confused by his inquiry.

“Yeah, what’s the big deal? Couldn’t you just go out and buy one?” Well, everyone except a certain blond air-strip joint aficionado.

It was at that moment that Hjøphiël realized, upon having Jaune agree with him about something, just how badly he’d socially face-planted.

Trent, even though he wasn’t the most well-versed on Hunter etiquette, managed a quiet “Bruh,” before he was cut off by Port and Samael, the former ceding the explanation to the latter with a twinkle in his eye.

“While technically one could commission one, as it is hardly illegal” Samael explained, “no taxidermist worth their salt would take a commission from someone who lacked proof of a kill. Grimm trophies are a mark of pride for those who make them and those who earned them both, and while mounted Beowolf heads are a dime a dozen, there’s still a mark of pride in earning one.” He waved a hand at the fake demon moose head. “And when it comes to a Grimm like this, that goes even more so. In fact, it would not surprise me if there were taxidermists bidding to be the one to make this.”

Port tapped the side of his mustachioed nose with a smile. “Full marks, Mr. Obsidian.”

With that, the portly teacher stepped aside and tapped another object covered in a tarp, rectangular in shape.

“Speaking of marks, here’s an opportunity for extra credit,” he ripped the fabric from the box, to reveal a suddenly squealing Boarbatusk, slamming its head into the front of its cage and kicking the back furiously to no avail. “Should anybody combat and best this Grimm before the class, they will be awarded extra credits that will count towards their final grade at the end of the year! And, in honour of Team HITS’ accomplishment against the Doomantler, I would be remiss to not extend the first opportunity to mister Sable — a chance to demonstrate his technique with his delightfully unique weapon to his peers!”

The teacher, who it seemed had a favourite team, was rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“...Why was it so quiet up ‘till now?” Hjøphiël wondered aloud in confusion.

“Even Grimm have a well-developed sense of drama, my boy!” Port blatantly lied with a twirl of his moustache, before his attention was squarely again on the Vacuan student.

Ichabod laughed nervously at that as he rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, man. It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but my weapon's kind of out of commission at the moment." He said sheepishly. "The spine of that Doomantler was surprisingly resistant. But I could-"

The man's words died on his throat as he felt a shiver running down his spine, feeling as though he had been frozen solid. He felt danger, or rather his impending doom, but couldn't tell from where. He turned his head slightly to the right and saw Ruby staring right back at him, her silver eyes catching the light of the room in a strange way which almost created the illusion of making them shimmer.

Oh, right. She probably had an idea of what he meant by out of commission.

“Then I’ll fell the beast!” An unexpected, haughty voice called out from next to the typically joyful scyther. Weiss had risen to her feet and dramatically cast her hand out to point at the jet-black piggie that was still furiously struggling against its restraints.

When all eyes turned to settle on her, she actually visibly panicked for a fraction of a second, but steeled herself and held her ground, even as Ruby snapped her attention away from Ichabod and worriedly took the Schnee heiress’ free hand in a show of concern that was quickly shaken off.

It was hard to miss how the white-haired girl was trembling, even as she did her best to stand strong.

“Yeah, you show them what you’re made of, girl!” Yang encouraged her teammate, pumping her fist in anticipation.

‘Kali’ just attempted to keep a low profile and held a book in front of her face.

“Oh? Are you sure about that, Miss Schnee?” Port asked analytically. “You do not seem entirely sure of yourself.”

“I said I’d do it, so I’ll do it!” Weiss declared as she stomped out of the audience, knocking over her chair as she went and ignoring Ruby’s disconcerted attempt at halting her. “You will see! You’ll all see the magnificence of the Schnee blood that flows through my veins, how perfect and unbending we are!” Her voice was shaky, halting in her delivery.

"The floor is yours. No objections. I am incapable of doing this." Ichabod rapidly muttered awkwardly as he looked around for a seat to remove himself from the forefront as quickly as possible.

Trent had to bite his tongue to keep from quipping about how she’d wanted Hjøphiël to bend her over the day before.

Samael, for his part, noticed the cracks in her facade all-too-clearly, and while a small, ugly part of him felt a measure of schadenfreude at the prospect of the bigoted girl being so very vulnerable, that feeling was swiftly buried under the veritable mountain of guilt the Faunus felt at the sight of her state.

The girl, notably, took the long way down to the small, arena-like stage at the bottom of the classroom. Notable because Hjøphiël had been standing right in the middle of the easy path down, and she’d been pointedly not acknowledging the presence of Team HITS since they’d arrived.

The Atlesian just attempted to fade into the background with a shamed look on his face. Even if she had been nothing but awful up to that point, the girl was visibly traumatized by what she’d gone through, and despite everything he himself had been through, he still had a weakness and oversensitive degree of empathy for girls.

Port tapped his chin contemplatively, then nodded in agreement. “Very well, do your best, Miss Schnee!” He planted his hand on the boarbatusk’s cage latch, then paused. “Oh wait, my mistake, you’ll need to go retrieve your weapon, won’t you-”

With a metallic ‘shing,’ a long, argent rapier with a revolving mechanism in the guard was drawn and held at the ready before the side-tailed girl. “That will not be necessary,” she declared matter-of-factly.

“Ohoho! A young lady that’s always prepared for combat! Most prudent of you, miss Schnee, the rest of the student body could stand to learn a thing or two from your preparedness!” he boisterously noted as he prepared to release the hell pig again. “I dare say, perhaps you might even rise to stand among the heights of Team HITS if you maintain this course! Yourself and mister Vanta are both from Altas, yes? Perhaps you should trade notes!”

The entire room had gone dead silent, staring at the Grimm Studies teacher in naked stupefaction.

Hjøphiël was quietly contemplating the pistol at his hip, wondering what in the hell the teacher was thinking with that comment.

For his part, Ichabod plopped his head down at his desk and groaned.

“Release. The. Pig.” Weiss demanded through grit teeth, her entire body had gone as tense as a suspension bridge cable.

“If he says anything else, there’ll be two pigs skewered this class,” Samael muttered to Trent. The blond just smiled a mysterious little smile, as if the Faunus had given him some great gift.

Port, having evidently mistaken her anger for enthusiasm, just grinned widely before he popped the cage’s latch and declared, “En garde!”

\---

Weiss, needless to say, had absolutely brutalized the poor piggy in front of everyone in an excessively savage manner. Almost everyone had been mortified at the frenzied showing. Port and Yang had thought it was “a magnificent display” and “wicked badass awesome yeah!”, respectively, and the former promised to have a replica head delivered to Team RWBY’s room by the end of the school week.

Port had also called for Weiss to hang back so he could talk to her, and she obliged in as dignified a manner as possible.

At any rate, something far more pressing occurred after class was over. Ichabod was cornered by Ruby.

“Ichabod,” Ruby asked in a low, uncharacteristically harsh tone, her little fist twitching furiously. “Where is Adidas Arena?”

The man shrank away from her in fear, letting out a high-pitched whine that was almost outside the range of human hearing.

“Ichabod,” she repeated, her brow knitting and her nostrils flaring disconcertingly. “Where, is, Adidas Arena?”

"...in pieces."

He was immediately lifted off the ground with a terrified squeal and slammed into it by the collar of his poncho, an animalistic snarl on the tiny, all-loving girl’s lips. “You fudge-eating little son of a biscuit! Treacherous melonhead!”

"I'm sorry! I know it's bad!" He panicked. "I'll take my L, but it's just that I didn't get the chance to give it proper maintenance in over a year! I was-"

In a burst of petals, Ichabod was dragged along the entire length of the hallway outside of Port’s class in the span of a tenth of a second, hoisted up and slammed against the wall with a cyan burst at the end of the corridor with a cry that made the Doomantler sound like a purring kitten. “Animal! Cur! Murderer! KINSLAYER!” She snarled up at him as she kept him suspended off his feet, pressed into the freshly cracked wall. Ichabod gave out a sound that was stuck between a sob and a panicked giggle.

“Holy shit,” Hjøphiël breathed from the still-open door leading to Port’s classroom where Ruby had ambushed the still assembled Team HITS.

The entire rest of the still-populated hallway seemed to share his sentiment, including Yang and ‘Kali,’ who were gaping at the display in shock and confusion.

“How does the saying go?” Samael asked rhetorically, staring at the altercation with eyes deader than a year-old fish carcass. “‘Beware the quiet ones?’ It would seem there is some merit to that old adage, after all.”

Trent, monster that he was, decided to throw his teammate to the proverbial dogs, and pointed at him as he roared, “You get what you fucking deserve!”


	8. The Entire Team

The lads awoke to a horrid, ear-shattering scream, the lot of them flailing as their slumber was rudely terminated by the noise. Samael, for his part, felt a solid fifth of his soul leave his body as he leaped out of bed. Unfortunately, he misjudged the force he’d put into his legs and wound up clinging to the ceiling, fingers and heels pressing divots into the plaster.

Hjøphiël, for his part, had jumped then rolled out of bed, falling into a readied position on his knee and pointing his pistol in the general direction of the scream, adrenaline having spiked as his heart hammered away at a mile a minute.

Splayed out on his bed, eyes wide and ears ringing, Trent sat up and looked around, only to find the source of the cacophony. The Doomantler head, its eyes glowing malevolently as the shrill sound echoed from its nonexistent throat.

Ichabod meanwhile, was barely roused and merely groaned, "Shut that thing up."

Leaning out of his bed, Trent grabbed the first thing he could reach and launched it at the taxidermied head. Ichabod’s sombrero careened through the air like a massive frisbee, and slotted itself cleanly in the thing’s mouth, muffling its screaming to a more manageable level. “Nailed it,” the blond declared as he flopped onto his back.

With a dull thump, Samael dropped back to the ground, brushing at his wiry, matted hair as bits of plaster followed him down. With an annoyed growl, the Faunus shambled over to where the trophy was mounted and jumped up to smack at the side of the thing, simultaneously dislodging the sombrero and hitting a button on its side that ceased the cacophony.

In the encroaching silence, Trent inquired, “What time is it?”

“That’s your first fucking question?” Hjøphiël cried back as he rose to his feet and dropped the magazine of his pistol, followed by racking the slide to empty the live round in the chamber. “Why the fuck did that thing go off on its own first thing in the morning!?”

“Fuck if I know, I just wanna know if I can sleep longer,” the blond replied, shifting in his bed.

Samael dug out his scroll and glanced at it. “Huh. It’s seven. Looks like that damn thing synced up with my scroll’s alarm and decided that giving me a heart attack was a good way to wake me up.” He palmed his face and sighed, before fiddling with the little device. “It isn’t synced to mine anymore, but you guys might want to check yours as well.”

“So this is when we fill socks with bars of soap and beat Port with them, right?” Trent asked as he did the same with his own phone, turning off his later alarm.

“As incredibly tempting as that sounds,” Samael admitted, “I’m not prepared to get expelled for assaulting a teacher.”

“If we won, Ozpin would probably let us graduate early, given how he acted during the team ceremony,” the blond pointed out, staring up at the ceiling. “Hell, Port would probably support the idea.”

"Sounds more like Shade Academy's headmaster to me." Ichabod noted with a groan as he rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a dull thud. The Mexican't raised a finger as his face was still firmly planted on the ground. "Who's hitting the shower first?"

Samael scooped up Ichabod’s sombrero from the ground and walked by the prone man, dropping it on his head as he passed. “I’ll take first; cold water and me don’t mix too well on account of being a snake. I’ll be quick.”

"Aight. I'll take second." The Vacuan man said as he dropped his hand on the floor. "Need to go get my weapon fixed before class to avoid another chew out session."

“I’ll wait till this evening, don’t want to stink this place up after I crawl out of my suit,” Trent declared, pulling his blanket tighter around him.

\---

The second Ichabod was done dressing, he immediately headed off to the in-school workshop, carrying the pieces of Adios Arenas with him. Much to his fortune, the place was completely empty save for the clerk at the counter.

After getting a set of tools from the man in question, he set down everything and disassembled his weapon.

For the Macuahuitl, the telescopic extender in the hilt was completely shattered, a Dust conduit had a leak, and the well looked like a terminal lung cancer patient's affected organ, not a pretty sight by any means. The shield wasn't faring any better; the chain had broken, but mercifully he still had all the teeth, the decoration out the front was shattered like a china plate, with the shards looking blackened to the point of unrecognizability.

But by far, the internals, both to use the Dust he could attach to it and the chainsaw mechanism, were the most affected. Corroded tubing with some holes, shattered gears and bearings, and more than a few metal shards embedded directly into other parts like a fragmentation grenade had just gone off on it.

"Christ almighty, she'd kill me if she looked at it right now." Ichabod winced, assessing the damage as best he could and tallied up how much it'd cost him to replace everything. By his estimate and considering that he'd likely replace a good chunk of the components just to do a quick and dirty hack job to keep it together for a while longer?

A lot of lien.

He slammed his head into the workbench with a thud.

"I'm dead. This is it. End of the line." Ichabod groaned. "Here's to a life well misspent."

It was at that moment, in the silence that followed, Ichabod noticed a low, almost haunting chant audible just behind him, causing the fine hairs all over his body to stand on end.

“Stay my blade from the flesh of my fellow man - my weapon reaps naught but the agents of darkness and chaos which pervade this land - a hero I am, a hero I shall be, above the vain and meagre call of low vengeance I shall rise - stay my blade from the flesh of my fellow man-”

The man slowly turned around, in spite of the uselessness of the gesture to confirm that Ruby was, in fact, behind him, looking at him like the subhuman, kinslaying scum that he was, with her weapon held completely unfurled. The scythe rattled in her hands as she shook from head to toe, visibly holding herself back.

There had been no burst of petals, no gush of rushing wind to announce her presence - she’d approached him normally, slowly, and terrifyingly quietly. Like a goddamned slasher movie villain in a poofy skirt.

"Can I just beg for mercy and ask my very first friend to please help me out?" Ichabod let out a loud sigh. "I had a really, really, bad time in Vacuo. I swear I'll actually take care of my weapon, and polish it, and sharpen it, and oil it properly every day."

“Upon your very soul and all that you hold dear?” Ruby inquired, Crescent Rose trembling, her eyes almost seeming to shimmer mesmerizingly again.

There wasn't much he actually held dear by that point, but he resisted the urge to give in and say that part, instead choosing to take a deep breath and put his hands together as if in prayer. "Yes, I swear. Until my dying breath."

The silence which followed could not be described as anything less than ‘deafening.’ The enormous scythe in her hands continued to quietly rattle, then it slowed, and stopped entirely before it suddenly collapsed and folded back in on itself and she jerkily returned it to its holstered place on the small of her back.

“That will have to do,” she said, voice still wavering audibly. It took a few moments, but the odd shimmering in her eyes seemed to fade as well - a side-effect of her Aura acting up under pressure, maybe?

Putting that aside for the moment, Ichabod glanced at his weapon again, patting the horrid looking Dust well.

"So where do we start with this? It's a right mess, I'll be the first to admit." He asked the tiny terrifying weapon goblin.

At that, the tool kit the little ravenette somehow carried on her was dropped on the table next to Ichabod, and she was seated and ready to go. “First off, what material did you use for the main body and to what degree did you temper it?” she inquired as she popped open the lid and started going through her innumerable tools, each more esoteric to the eyes of the layman than the last.

Ichabod gulped down and braced himself.

"Yeeaaah...about that..." The Vacuan man rose a hand behind his neck, furiously scratching at his hair. "It's...I think..."

He gave up at that point and accepted his fate.

"It's scrap steel I found." He admitted.

Ruby had gone completely still again, staring into the aether with an expression of existential pain making itself clear on her face. “You don’t even know what the Rockwell scale is, do you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

"I actually know, I just don't know the specifics." He admitted quietly.

Ruby didn’t believe him.

Quietly, after returning her tool kit to where it was she kept it, she started gathering up the bits of Adios Arenas, setting them into a school-branded plastic crate and closing the lid wordlessly. She picked said crate up, then started walking towards the hallways. “We’re going to the blacksmith in Vale to recycle the metals into something identifiable and reliable.”

Once again, it wasn't a proposition.

"Completely fair," Ichabod murmured before his eyes snapped back to her. "Wait, but I don't have any money-"

“Then consider yourself in debt to me,” Ruby intoned back at him, her inflection entirely lacking in emotion as she continued walking as if participating in a funeral procession without missing a beat.

"Completely fair." He repeated, still wincing before he went after the tiny child. He idly considered asking if he should be the one to carry the scraps of the scrap, but he had a feeling that'd just anger her again.

Their friendship was clearly off to a phenomenal start.

He couldn't help but feel like there was something they were forgetting about as they headed to Vale.

\---

“Where the fuck is Ichabod?” Trent asked, slouched in his seat in Combat Class.

“Forget him, where the hell is Ruby?” Yang demanded from the next aisle over, glancing around with furrowed brows and her arms crossed before her chest.

“I believe Ichabod went off to see about repairing his weapon, but I haven’t the slightest clue about your sister, I’m afraid,” Samael commented, tapping his fingers on the collar of his coat as he reclined next to his teammate.

“…Did Ruby kidnap Ichabod and bury him alive somewhere? She was pretty pissed yesterday when she heard about his weapon…” the blond asked, only half-joking.

“...Surely not; I may not know her well, but she scarcely seems the type to escalate that far...right?” Samael’s uncertain words inspired little confidence in anyone, let alone himself.

Trent turned to look at his teammate, his eyes narrowed as he leaned towards him. “Did you miss how she nearly beat his ass back to Vacuo yesterday?”

Samael waved a hand with a scoff. “Please, that was scarcely even a tussle, let alone a beating; his Aura was nowhere near broken.”

“...I hope she isn’t doing that thing again,” Yang said in an exasperated voice. “She promised dad she was past that sorta stuff when she left for Signal…”

The blond looked to his Faunus companion and held his hands out towards Yang, his expression completely deadpan. “Are you sure about that?”

Samael bowed his head and tilted his fedora down to shade his eyes. “I am sorry, Brother Ichabod. May your next life be free of sand and strife.”

Blake peeked over the rim of her book to give Samael a curious look, though she quickly returned to pretending to not notice Team HITS’ existence.

“If ‘that thing’ is the act of putting down rabid animals, then I fail to see the issue,” Weiss quietly muttered to herself at Blake’s side, as far from Team HITS as she could reasonably be without sitting separately and scandalously apart from her own team.

Blake grimaced behind her book but didn’t interject. It wasn’t as though she was referring to Faunus, right?

“Alright, class,” Glynda called from the stage overlooking the auditorium - the school’s designated arena for Huntsman duels, it seemed. “Everyone quiet down…” she noticeably paused when her gaze drifted over Teams RWBY and HITS, each sans a member, letting out a small, annoyed tut before continuing.

“Today is your first day of anti-personnel training. As many of you are doubtlessly aware, many Huntsmen will take work hunting human bounties between jobs involving Grimm control. This class’s purpose is to ensure that any who may choose to partake in said work will not be entirely clueless on the matter of doing battle with their fellow man.”

With a Semblance-infused flick of her riding crop, a blackboard came speeding into the middle of the stand where she stood, suddenly stopping with just as much force as she willed it.

“Now, understand that these classes are largely to simply teach you the basics of human-on-human conflict, as this is an institution meant to produce Grimm slayers, not soldiers. If you desire to further your understanding of fighting man and the most efficient tactics to end lives as quickly as possible, I’m given to understand that Atlas Academy is always eager for new applicants and transfer students to swell their ranks.”

Hjøphiël’s eyes nervously darted about, particularly in Weiss’ direction, though he otherwise remained silent.

“Furthermore, the employment of Dustcasting in combat will not be covered in this particular class going forth. That will instead be offered as an elective class for those who might rely upon Dust for more esoteric applications. Please stay back after this class is over to make inquiries on the matter.”

She slapped the board in front of her, and a chalk stick floated up to begin writing upon it seemingly of its own accord.

“This, as you have all likely gathered, is my own Semblance, telekinesis. Learning how to apply your own Semblance in combat against humans, if possible, will be covered in classes going forth. Furthermore, this will be done in the context of duelling each other, your fellow students, in particular.”

“Any questions so far?” she asked, critically looking over her students. When she received no answer, she gave a shallow nod. “Then we shall begin with practice duels. The rules are simple: fight until you have pushed your foe’s Aura into the critical range. Are there any volunteers?”

A loud voice called out from the side of the room opposite Team HITS, its owner a brawny young man with brown hair that was styled similarly to Trent’s. “Yeah, I wanna have a go!”

Glynda nodded and asked, “Now, who would like to be Mister Winchester’s oppo-”

“Hey, Teach!” Winchester interrupted, getting to his feet. “I want to challenge someone, see about how good they actually are.”

“In the future, Mister Winchester, I would advise against interrupting me,” Goodwitch declared, her normally stern gaze radiating the sort of fury that could kill the unprepared. “However, given that this is your first combat class, I shall let it pass. This time.”

There was a quiet moment, where no one spoke, sweat clearly starting to drip down the side of Winchester’s neck. The professor broke it, her expression seemingly unfocusing on the young man as she asked, “Who do you wish to challenge?”

“B-Blackmore!” the brunet answered, choking on air as he took a small step back from the teacher.

Glynda’s gaze turned to the student in question, and inquired, “Will you answer his challenge, Mister Blackmore?”

“Sure,” Trent answered as he stood up and ambled down to the arena in the centre of the room rolling his shoulders. “It’ll be a good workout.”

Winchester quickly regathered his confidence as he swaggered down to the arena, a mace in hand and his armour gleaming. He sneered at his opponent as he came to stand opposite him, drumming his weapon lightly against his shoulder. “I can’t wait to show everyone that all the members of team SHIT are worthless. The others managed to showcase how utterly trash they were on the opening day, but you seem to think that you’re some hot shit compared to them.”

“So, who are you again?” Trent asked, having no idea as to who Winchester actually was. Sure, they were in the same year, but the guy hadn’t made any sort of impression, and the blond’s own bad memory was of no help.

Uncaring for the banter passing between the students and ignoring how Winchester swelled at the perceived insult, Glynda stepped back to the board at the front of the room, flipping it over on its pivots to reveal the digital display that had been on the backside. It now displayed a picture of both combatants, with a green metre beneath them. Lifting her crop high, she brought it down as she called, “This match shall be between Cardin Winchester and Trent Blackmore. Begin!”

The two immediately rushed at each other, both of them needing to close the distance for their fighting styles. When they were within melee range, Cardin lashed out, swiping horizontally with his mace, hoping to catch his foe across the face.

Trent shrunk to half his height in an instant, the attack flying over his head and launched himself upwards, driving both of his fists into Winchester’s unprotected stomach as he grew back to his full size. His face immediately paled as he realized that he forgot to put on his auto-adjusting belt that morning.

The blond’s pants and shoes fell off behind him, as he all but jumped out of them.

Yang had been watching with great interest, curious about how Trent in particular would fight given his apparent lack of a weapon, he must’ve been a brawler, right? Gotta keep an eye out for any potential sparring partners.

Then, her eyes widened and her lips curled upwards manically entirely of their own accord at the sight before the class, as something awakened inside of her at the sight of Blackmore’s perfect, bulbous posterior on full display, encased in a flawlessly form-fitting gunmetal blue muscle suit which simply begged, nay, demanded to be oh-so-delicately unwrapped by the eager hands glistening brilliantly with passion.

She had become blind to the world around her in that perfect moment, and there, in the long, sweet silence, she could only see one thing.

Blackmore’s sweet, gently rolling bubble butt, each individually defined cheek clapping majestically in the wind.

Everyone else in the class nearly puked on the spot.

Ignoring the shocked and disgusted sounds of the class around them, Trent dodged to the side as Cardin brought his mace down in a heavy overhead blow. Shrinking and hopping off Winchester’s knee, he grew back to full size and slammed his shin into his opponent’s cheek.

The brunet stumbled back a step and growled as the Dust crystal set in the head of his mace glowing as he slammed it into the ground, a shock of red flaring across the ground.

Trent tried to jump over the attack, shifting to his smaller form, but his foot was clipped, causing him to start careening through the air.

That was the end of it.

His butt slammed into Cardin’s face, the brunet freezing in shock as the entire room went silent.

The blond landed and did the only thing he could think of, and slammed his face into his hands.

Cardin collapsed backwards, a face full of Blackmore’s sweet boi booty causing the will to live to escape his body.

A long, incredibly disturbed silence followed for a time, finally broken when Samael lowered the brim of his hat to shade his face from view and let out a noise, not unlike that of a deflating balloon being run over by a tractor. His despairing laughter trailed off into what definitely weren’t sobs, absolutely not!

Glynda nodded, took a deep breath through her nose to keep from sighing, and declared, “Mister Blackmore is the winner. Perhaps all of you should learn from his use of his Semblance during this bout.”

“I’d rather die,” Hjøphiël cried out from the back.

Trent, face still pressed into his hands, weakly remarked, “Same.”


	9. A Typical Union Job

“I can’t believe how you were actually using a chain made from like, four different bicycle chains you welded together, then welded scrap chunks onto it for teeth!” Ruby growled as she set the newly forged chain made from identifiable materials into its receptacle, hooking it into the gears and whatnot it needed to spin. “Do you have any idea of how many failure points there were on that thing!? I can’t believe it didn’t break before the rest of the weapon did!” She knocked a pin into place using a rubber mallet.

"Honestly, I can't believe I found that many chains." Ichabod embarrassedly admitted.

“I don’t know if I’m more impressed or angry…” the little ravenette grumbled before dramatically pointing her mallet at Ichabod, stomping her combat boot-encased foot on the tiled floor of the academy workshop. “I’m imprangriessed! I don’t like it! Why must you be this way!?”

Both were standing, as per safety regulations - no chairs allowed around power tools and heavy machinery.

Given that it was early into the start of the first semester, and in the middle of regular classes no less, the pair currently had the entire building to themselves. Were it not for the boatload of complicated and dangerous-looking machines lining the walls and sitting atop workbenches here and there, their voices would have doubtlessly echoed in the cavernous room.

"I mean, I can see why you'd be so angry. Craftsman's pride and all that is something I'm sort of familiar with." The man added while carefully sharpening each tooth of the saw individually, trying to shrug off the criticism. "But listen, when I said I had a bad time in Vacuo and couldn't give Adios Arenas maintenance for a year, I legitimately meant that I had no tools or even a place to work on it."

He sighed out loud and set the chain down, scratching idly at the back of his head and trying to get rid of a nonexistent itch.

"If you think I'm bad, you don't want to know what the professionals do over in Xibalba." Ichabod winced and shivered. "How they found a yacht in the middle of the desert is still beyond me."

Ruby stopped what she was doing, remained still for a moment, and eventually turned to face Ichabod, mallet mid-swing with an eyebrow cocked at the taller man. “Eh?” she cutely vocalized her confusion.

Ichabod laughed awkwardly when he saw her and shrunk slightly in his poncho, "Ok, is this about the professionals or about the yacht? The first one's probably going to make you very, very angry. The second one I can barely begin to guess how it happened."

Ruby blinked, staring at Ichabod with her head cocked to the side, her cloak billowing slightly in a low breeze the wide-open front doors were letting in. “Yes?” she eventually managed to reply before finally finishing her hammer swing.

"Ok then, let's start with the second." He replied before he picked the chain back up and continued to sharpen the little fangs, the scraped metal ringing out as he did. "Vacuo's deserts are filled with all sorts of scrap and ruined things. From what I can hear it's from way back when; the place was apparently something resembling a decent kingdom, full of massive oases and Dust deposits everywhere."

He turned the chain around and began touching up the other side. He let out a loud yawn and continued his work.

"The yacht probably belonged to some rich dude and got abandoned around the time of the Great War," Ichabod shrugged, "it's the only thing that makes sense to me, at least."

Ruby looked pensive, her brows knitting as they fell to the newly reforged charge blade. “Okay, so…” she took a deep breath, seeming to dread the next topic. “How could you have no access to tools or a workplace? Vacuo… can’t be that bad.” She sounded rather remarkably uncertain now.

"Yeah, no, it's not that bad, it's worse." The Vacuan member of Team HITS remarked, perhaps a bit too nonchalantly. "The place can barely be called a Kingdom; the only halfway decent place is the capital. Nowadays it's basically all desert, settlements have to scavenge to make ends meet."

Ichabod let out a sigh as he finished working on the chain, setting it down on the workbench with a slight clatter.

"So...yeah, while I was making my way here, there was barely anywhere where I could fix up Adios Arenas," he explained, "settlements didn't always have the proper things that I needed. I can count with the fingers of one hand how many times I actually saw an old, beat up wrench the proper size to tighten some of the nuts in my weapon."

A long, oppressive silence followed. Ruby just stared at the newly reforged weapon in question, her brow heavily knit. She eventually took a deep breath and replied with “I don’t like that,” before she kept dutifully working on the obscenely dangerous weapon.

Frankly, Ichabod felt much the same about it. He supposed it was better to leave that particular line of conversation there. At least he dodged out of the way of having to explain the Vacuan weaponsmiths general doctrines when it came to building weapons; that'd be a right mess.

Instead, he chose to laugh and reply to the girl.

"And that's why I left Vacuo!" Ichabod said with a cheery tone, almost as if the words would be punctuated with a fanfare and party poppers.

A few minutes later, with one final bop of her rubber mallet, the newly remade Adios Arenas was finally completed, if still unpainted and undecorated. “And… she’s done,” Ruby’s typical cheer immediately returned full-force, and she withdrew some spare dust to dump it into the machine’s receptacle to power it. “Alright, turn it on, and let’s make sure she runs all good and proper!”

The Vacuan man grinned wildly upon seeing the metallic club and shield. The weight was mostly the same, but any possible differences he might have noticed were lost on him as he was reunited with his trusted partner. His eyes widened and pupils dilated as he grasped the hilt and lifted off his weapons.

He immediately went for the center of the room, away from all the heavy-duty machinery, the cavernous workshop providing enough space that he could actually manage to do full swings with the weapon without hitting anything or anyone.

He slotted in the macuahuitl inside the shield and extended the handle, letting out an amazed ooh as, for the first time in months, the hilt telescoped even further away from his hands as it did before, stretching out so far as to make his weapon a full-on polearm.

Ichabod immediately hit the switch.

The shield and club both began spinning the sharp teeth attached to them letting out a deafening roar as they broke through the air with immense speed and violent anger. The man holding the implement let out a high-pitched scream even louder than it, almost like one of the machines in the room slowly winding up, harder and harder until he let out a chortle of wild, genuine laughter.

"We're back on business, amigos!" He yelled as he raised his weapon in the air up and down, looking incredibly happy, before he snapped his head to Ruby with a smile "You're the best! No, the bestest! You rock, chica!”

“I know,” Ruby replied with a wide, toothy grin as she clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward, bouncing on her heels excitedly at the sight of the mighty and stupidly awesome weapon’s rebirth.

\---

The Dustcasting elective was held in a room the same size as the Combat Class, not due to housing the same number of students, but because they needed the space for working with the material. As if to scoff at the usual stereotypes that come with the term ‘casting,’ the room was well lit and clean, each and every bit of Dust in the room properly secured in a case. Given its nature as an elective, there were fewer students than the average class, while Professor Goodwitch stood at the front of the class, a great chalkboard taking up the wall behind her.

The blonde teacher’s stern gaze cast across the students like some sort of imperious judge overseeing a crowd of probably guilty fugitives. While some students shrunk under the look, others tried to preen in an attempt to impress her, or just remained unmoved. She took a step to the side as she picked up a piece of chalk. “As you are all aware, this is the Dustcasting elective class. I will give you this singular warning: I will brook no tomfoolery or monkey business. Working with Dust is inherently dangerous, and any mishap can be potentially deadly.”

As she spoke, she drew different symbols, each representing a type of Dust, and when she needed to reach higher, used her Semblance to control the chalk. Turning back to the class as the chalk drew seemingly autonomously, she stated, “That’s why we will not be working with Dust until we’ve gone over every type here in class. Any questions?”

While most of the room seemed either cowed by her intensity or unconcerned with asking questions, two students raised their hands.

“I beg your pardon, miss Goodwitch,” Weiss cut in the moment her hand was raised, not actually waiting to be acknowledged as she sat prim and properly. “I am already a skilled Dustcaster and practitioner of its applications in combat. Surely I am not expected to work alongside plebeians on the most basic of methodology? I took this class assuming that my pre-established and demonstrated skill would be accounted for.”

“Miss Schnee, this class is open to any student who has the desire and drive to learn Dustcast, and assuming everyone to be at the same level could easily lead to accidents,” Glynda answered, the corners of her mouth tightening when Weiss spoke unprompted. “Secondly, reviewing the basics can help one find new avenues to improve their skills and fundamentals, and should not be discounted.”

“This is absurd!” Weiss slapped her hands on the desk she was seated at, standing up and stooping over as she cut in, again, without actually waiting for permission to speak. “I was among the top of my class at Altas Academy, to be humiliated like this-”

Glynda’s eyes narrowed as her riding crop snapped out, the door to the class slowly swinging open. “Miss Schnee, if you have an issue with my teaching methods, then I would remind you that this is an elective class and that you do not have to attend. If you wish to remain, sit down. Otherwise…” The teacher trailed off, her message clear as she stared the teen down.

Weiss’s eye twitched. A motion that quickly ran the entire length of her body. Then, as if battling herself, the white-clad young lady lowered herself back into her seat, clasping her hands together as she went uncomfortably stiff, eyes locked forward and nostrils flaring.

In the back of the class, Trent stifled a snort at the sight of Weiss getting shut down as hard she just was. Things like that gave him life. Beside him, Samael rolled his eyes, his hand still raised.

The door closed as Goodwitch turned, her eyes landing on the belt-clad Faunus. “And what is your question, mister Obsidian?”

Samael lowered his hand as multiple pairs of eyes turned to regard him. He coughed into his fist, then replied, “Ah, yes. I was wondering if we would have the opportunity to learn how to weave Dust into clothing; my own style of combat would benefit greatly from not having to retrieve new crystals I have stored on my person every time I wish to cast.”

“Yes, it is an advanced technique that will be discussed later in the year,” the professor answered, her crop disappearing seemingly into the aether as she caught the slowly descending chalk. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

Samael gave a nod. “It does, Professor.”

After sweeping the room with an imperious gaze and making certain there were no other questions, Glynda Goodwitch began her lecture. The chief topic of the day was the four Prime Dusts: Fire, Water, Earth, and Air, as well as their most common applications in Dustcasting. The topic of basic Dust compounds was briefly touched upon, mentioning Ice and Lightning Dust as two of the most common examples, though Goodwitch cautioned that compounds, both simple and advanced, would be covered in greater detail in later lectures.

Very little of it was information foreign to Samael, but unlike the Schnee, he didn’t mind the refresher. There were still nuggets of information present in the lecture that had been glossed over or dismissed as unimportant in his own education. They didn’t call Flare Preparatory School “the poor man’s Signal” for nothing, after all.

Trent listened diligently, writing notes and reminders in the notebook before him, trying his best to absorb everything that had been said. Unlike the majority of the students in Beacon, he’d not attended a preparatory school, and thus only had a civilian’s understanding of Dust.

After about an hour and a half, the lecture concluded, with a number of the students piling out the doors of the lecture hall the moment they were dismissed. A fair number, however, stayed behind to ask one thing or another of the professor, one of those people being Weiss Schnee.

Samael took note of this and came to a decision: he would apologize to her for what had happened two days prior. Certainly, the Schnee was a self-assured, arrogant racist the likes of which even he had rarely encountered before, but even then Samael was appalled at what he had done to her, even if unintentionally.

Receiving proper comeuppance for one’s actions was one thing, but being publicly humiliated in such a vulgar and visceral manner was far beyond the pale, in his eyes.

So it was that the belt-coated serpent-man waited outside the classroom doors for his opportunity to offer amends, while Trent had just plopped down on the ground, aimlessly sketching a monster face in his notebook.

Finally, after taking a few moments to ensure all of her notebooks and such were packed away in her bookbag, Weiss stood and started for the singular doorway leading out into the hallway. Notably, she jerked like a malfunctioning automaton and her eyes widened like a frightened dog when she noticed Samael lurking near the entrance as if waiting for something.

She didn’t stop, though she was impossibly stiff, legs damn near wobbling with each step as if on the absolute, very edge as she made a very valiant attempt to maintain her composure while moving to depart from the classroom.

Samael winced as he witnessed her behaviour, and leaned away from the door slightly, so as to give her a bit more space to pass. He let out a quiet, awkward cough as he began to speak, addressing the very clearly skittish girl. “Schnee, I wanted to-”

First, there was the sound of a high-pitched squeal of absolute terror that filled the classroom, then, the sound of a sword being ripped from its scabbard, and the air between them rippled with overwhelming power as ice formed and the water molecules in the air flash-froze.

Samael’s eyes bulged and threw himself out of the way, ice shards blasting over his head as he ducked down and rolled. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” the Faunus swore as he got to his feet, rapidly backing away from the line of fire, hands raised in surrender. “I just wanted to apologize, you crazy bint!”

As the ice surged towards Trent, he slid around and windmilled his legs, destroying the hail in a single smooth motion. Settling back into his seat, he checked to make sure that his notebook was undamaged as he muttered, “See? This was why I told you to give her some space before-”

The ice broke down into a flurry of powder as Goodwitch strode out of the classroom, her brow furrowed and expression as thunderous as the beginning of any horror story. “That is quite enough. What exactly do you believe you’re doing?”

“-talking to her.” Trent finished, his voice trailing off as the teacher walked out.

Samael, hands still raised in surrender, went to speak but was cut off immediately.

“T-t-they ambushed me!” Weiss cried out, rapier held aloft, tip pointed right at Samael as she looked to be in the midst of a panic attack, hyperventilating with tears already building in the corners of her eyes. “I-I was j-just try to l-leave, and they- I did-didn’t even do a-anything- It wasn’t e-enough to e-expose me to the-the entire s-s-school once!?” she demanded, trembling head-to-toe, visibly mortified and genuinely fearful at that moment.

The eyes of every student that had hung back in the class to take their time leaving were now locked on the commotion, wide and quiet as they listened intensely.

“Schnee, while my compatriot may have startled you, he had no intention of hurting or denigrating you. He just wanted to try and apologize for what happened,” the blond remarked as he got to his feet, closing his notebook as he slid it into his bag. “I warned him it wouldn’t be a good idea to do so this soon after the incident. Or at least not in person. I suggested he purchase a tasteful card and write his apology on it.”

Samael slowly lowered one hand, the other coming up equally slowly to adjust his skewed fedora. He cleared his throat and brushed absently at his coat before speaking. “As Trent said, I merely wished to extend my sincere apologies for the travesty that I inadvertently had a hand in perpetrating. Now, though, I see that he was indeed correct and that attempting to make amends in person was ill done by me.”

The Faunus did his damnedest to try and convey his sincerity in both word and body language, but from the looks he was receiving, he had his doubts that he was being given the benefit of the doubt.

Weiss, however, seemed deaf to their words, snapping the tip of her sword between the pair in a rising panic. This interaction started rolling downhill and the snowball simply did not cease picking up momentum as it crashed downwards.

It was at that point that her rapier was gently pulled from her hands by an invisible force, Glynda’s riding crop out and pointing at it as the teacher sighed, “That is enough. Misters Blackmore and Obsidian, please leave while I attend to miss Schnee.”

Samael gave a stiff, curt nod, and jerked his head to Trent as he turned and walked down the hall. His face was obscured by his coat’s collar, as ever, but the dullness in his sickly yellow-green eyes and the slump to his shoulders made his mood clear.

The blond reached out and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, his head shaking slightly. “This just ain’t our week, my dude.”

\---

“Hey, Vanta,” a boyish voice broke the silence, stirring Hjøphiël’s attention and tearing it from the game he’d been playing on his scroll.

Jaune had sat down next to him on the bench he’d been lounging on after classes had ended, enjoying the isolation that came with sitting on this grassy patch behind the school, not needing to worry about what sort of bullshit would happen from some random girl stepping into his Semblance’s area-of-effect.

“I think you and I need to have a little chat,” the blonde continued, his body language that of a kitten attempting to project the might of a tiger. “About my girl and your attempts to steal her from me.”

Hjøphiël just stared at Jaune, a blank expression on his face as the wind caused several loose strands of his hair to billow majestically.

“I’m warning you, Vanta,” Jaune pressed, turning and leaning towards the somewhat shorter but far more well-built man. “My mom always came to me first when she needed a pickle jar opened and dad was outta the house.”

Hjøphiël remained blank-faced, sitting there, like an uncomprehending potato. He legitimately didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, maybe you should keep quiet, messing with an angry lion on the hunt wouldn’t do you any favours,” Jaune continued.

“It’s the lionesses that hunt in a pride,” Hjøphiël pointed out to the blond.

“And what a fierce lioness mine is!” Jaune planted both hands on the bench between them and leaned even further forward, grinning like a weirdo in a way that left Hjøphiël puzzled until he realized that Jaune was trying to bear his teeth at him as an intimidation tactic.

“You haven’t watched much Animal Remnant growing up, have you?” Hjøphiël asked. “Either that or you’ve seen way too much.”

“I’ve seen plenty! My sisters just always distracted me during the best parts by braiding my hair or painting my nails or whatever!” Jaune declared, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “Or power-bombing me through a table - either way, I’ve seen enough!”

“As expected of the handsomest boy,” Hjøphiël very dryly declared past lidded eyes.

“Heh heh, yeah- Hey wait a minute buster,” Jaune dramatically pointed a finger at the brunet. “Flattery isn’t going to save you from my wrath! My girl is my girl, and I’m-” he pointed two fingers to his eyes, then rounded them on Hjøphiël. “-Watching you, buddy!”

At that, the sound of laughter broke out from an uncertain source, and a ginger-haired young man garbed in steel armour stepped out from behind a nearby tree, shaking his head and gazing down his nose at the pair sitting on the bench.

Cardin swaggered over to the pair, a cruel smirk riding his face as he approached, arms spread wide before swinging one up and slapping the blond upside the back of his head. “Y’know, I figured that I’d end up getting something good to dunk on Vanta with, but I can’t resist the ammo that mama’s little boy here has laid at my feet.” His hand curled into a claw as he fiercely scrubbed Jaune’s hair, ignoring the young man’s protests as he laughed, “Ah, why don’t you take it to your sisters, handsomest boy? Maybe one of them’ll have the ability to stand up to me!”

“H-hey! Cut that out!” Jaune protested, attempting to wriggle free of Cardin’s grasp and failing miserably. “Crissy would totally beat you up, you jerk!”

“Crissy? Crissy? You need your big sister Crissy to come here and save you, sissy boy?” the brunet cackled, reaching up with his other hand and locking it around the blond’s chin. “Whattaya say, Vanta? Why not grab a free shot or two on him! He was pissing you off too, right?”

Hjøphiël had risen to his feet, set his scroll back down on the bench behind him, and turned to face Cardin, his expression having fallen into one of intense bemusement. “I’m giving you exactly one chance to walk away, Winchester,” he said darkly, his voice low, emphasizing the gravel typically present to a significant degree. He was relaxed, though in a particular way, like a snake readying itself to strike out at a foolish predator that had gotten too close for its own good.

“Really Vanta? You’re gonna try and intimidate me?” Cardin asked, grinning down at the shorter man. “Blackmore may’ve humiliated me earlier today, but I know that none of you’re hot shit. Let’s settle it tomorrow, in Combat Class.”

“Your call,” Hjøphiël replied, having held back from immediately punching the shithead in the throat for not heeding his advice, and only because he still had Jaune in a headlock. “Drop him now, or I’m breaking your jaw, audience or not, though.”

Winchester laughed as he thrust the blond at the young man he had been trying to intimidate, turning to walk away as he called over his shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to your little makeout session!”

Hjøphiël was unmoved as he caught Jaune with a single hand, glaring after the overgrown child ambling away, entirely unaware of just how much of a mistake he’d made pissing the brunet off. He’d learn his lesson, either way. “...Giving him ammunition was the worst move you could have made there, as was not just punching him in the esophagus for acting like he’s a hardass,” the Atlesian declared to the taller figure as he helped him stand up properly again.

“I-I-” Jaune stammered, unsteady on his feet as he didn’t seem to know how to process what had just happened.

“And furthermore, Schnee was caught in my Semblance I have no control over, Arc. If you don’t want to see her acting like that, next time grab her and pull her at least four metres away from me - hell, I’d take it as a personal favour,” Hjøphiël continued as he scooped up his scroll and deposited it into his jacket pocket, already moving to depart the opposite way Cardin had. “And give me a heads-up if he gives you any more shit. I’d relish the chance to take out some frustration on the ass.”

“W-wait, aren’t you scared of him?” Jaune cut in as he hopped along to walk after Hjøphiël. “He’s so big, and mean, and smells like burnt bacon up close!”

“Not in the least, and you’ll see why tomorrow,” Hjøphiël asserted matter-of-factly, rolling a shoulder in anticipation. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

For a moment, Jaune’s feet slowed, he stared after Hjøphiël wide-eyed and picked up speed to catch back up with a low whine of “That sounded so cool,” eyes practically sparkling in amazement as he began to keep pace with the shorter fellow.

Hjøphiël was starting to wonder if this guy had been raised in a bubble.


	10. The Basics

At first glance, the Modern Remnant History classroom appeared like any of Beacon’s others: a large lecture hall with rows of benches and desks, all arranged in a semicircle around a center stage at the bottom, on which a desk and lectern stood. However, further inspection revealed traits that provided hints about the lecturer.

Most notably, the chalkboard at the back of the room was covered in a map of Remnant, which itself was plastered with numerous articles, both journalistic and historical, each connected to half a dozen other ones by red string. It was a chaotic mess that held no meaning at all to the casual viewer, for all that it made sense to the mind from which it had sprung.

Also telling were the stacks of papers piled on the desk in a state of mild chaos, with several coffee mugs sitting among them. Finally, and most importantly, was the lecturer himself: Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck. Grass green hair swept back in manic disarray, no doubt from the superhuman speeds the bespectacled man darted about his classroom in. One side of his dress shirt was untucked from his slacks, but the whole of the thing was rumpled, as was the mustard yellow tie hanging limply from his unbuttoned, popped collar.

Pausing in his rapid preparations to take a sip from one of his ever-present mugs of coffee, the wild-eyed history lecturer sternly regarded the students gathered for class.

“At your seats, you will find a copy of this class’s syllabus,” Oobleck said, the words tumbling from his mouth in a blur of diction that was only just decipherable by the gathered students. “What will be expected of you in this class is detailed there,” he paused, “in detail, yes. Have them signed and reviewed in full by the next class period.”

As though physically compelled to keep moving, the doctor blurred to another part of the room, every eye in the lecture hall following him in spite of themselves. “With that out of the way,” Oobleck continued, “I see no reason to dawdle any further. We will begin today’s lesson immediately, starting with the Great War. Now, can anybody tell me what the impetus behind the War was?”

At that, Blake raised her hand and spoke up matter-of-factly. “The war started because there was a dispute over the price of Faunus slaves between Vacuo and Mantle. Vale, having been trying to abolish the slave trade for years, took the side of Vacuo as they were actually ferrying them to new, safe lives in Vale.”

Ichabod blinked suddenly when he heard the claim. That didn't sound even one bit right to him. He straightened from his slouching position and turned to the black-haired girl from the other side of the room.

"Wait a second, as far as I recall, the Queen of Vacuo didn't much care for the Faunus slave trade." The Vacuan man cut in, scratching at the back of his head, roughly pulling on a few knots of hair as he did. "Being a Faunus herself, she was disgusted and put a hard stop to the practice a couple years after gaining power. Last I'd heard, it was more a matter of Mantle and Mistral having begun putting pressure on the northern and western coasts of Vacuo, trying to get a cut from the Dust mines there directly, rather than try to trade for it, which the Queen very much cared for."

“That is not what caused the Great War, Kali,” Weiss said to Blake, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her seat, completely ignoring Ichabod’s participation in the discussion to focus entirely on her teammate’s assertion. “Faunus rabble-rousers were causing severe economical and societal instability in Mantle, and so they were forced to try resettling on whatever uninhabited land they could find, which just-so-happened to be located on the east coast of Sanus.”

The pale-skinned and pale-haired girl seemed utterly convinced of her version of events and was practically talking down to the entire class as she educated them on the facts of the matter.

“Unfortunately, Faunus extremists had recently snuck in and started setting up illegal settlements under the nose of Vale and attacked the Mantlean settlers. The Faunus terrorists committed to a misinformation campaign and tricked Vale into thinking their own territory and people were being attacked. One thing led to another and everything quickly spun out of control into a terrible tragedy no thanks to those dirty, honourless animals doing what they do best.” Weiss finished with a shrug, sticking her nose up in the air and turning to Oobleck, clearly expecting to be praised for her retelling of historical facts.

Hjøphiël pointedly remained silent, the history he’d been taught in Atlas lining up with what Weiss had said, but he’d been wary of that particular tale in the first place, and now he was even more uncertain with how there were now three separate versions of the story circulating around the room.

For a long moment, Doctor Oobleck was uncharacteristically silent and eerily still. Finally, he bit out, “I’m almost impressed. All three of you are utterly, catastrophically misinformed.” He put a palm to his forehead and leaned on his desk, almost seeming to age a decade in the face of his students’ ignorance.

Blake’s brow just furrowed, not liking the teacher’s dismissal of her understanding of history, but not pressing the issue because she’d really rather not cause a scene or generate conflict.

Beside his teammates, Trent just shrugged, unsurprised by this revelation. History was bullshit either way.

Ichabod just mouthed off a decidedly apathetic "eh" as he slackened his posture again. It wasn't like he expected what he'd only learnt by word of mouth as bite-sized factoids to be anywhere close to accurate.

Weiss, meanwhile, froze, her jaw working uselessly before turning red. The heiress inhaled in preparation for another tirade, likely at least moderately racist in nature, but Oobleck cut her off.

“It’s a genuine tragedy how much bias and propaganda get passed off as history these days.” The doctor shook his head as he straightened. “If lies and hyperbole are to take the place of the truth, what does that say of the lessons we will draw from them?” The question was blatantly rhetorical, and so when Weiss opened her mouth to answer, Oobleck spoke over her. “I see that we will have to start at the very beginning, then.”

The hypercaffeinated man’s arm blurred into motion, gesturing with a baton that hadn’t been there a moment before. “We will start with the oft-overlooked Vacuoan general Pepe Sylver. Just who is Pepe Sylver, you might ask. Well, I suggest you listen closely, as he will feature prominently on the first exam...”

As the historian continued to lecture, attention slowly began to wane despite Oobleck’s manic energy. Though it was clear the man had a passion for the subject, there was only so much one could do to make a bunch of teenagers invested in dusty war history, recent or otherwise.

Samael, for his part, tried to pay attention, but even he was watching the clock by twenty minutes in. Ichabod was much of the same mind, just paying a token amount of attention but not really being gripped by the troubled times eighty years past them. At the very least, he didn't fall asleep. Trent, having done the bare minimum to make Oobleck think he was engaged, allowed himself to slump forward, and not pay any attention.

Hjøphiël was just glad he’d kept his mouth shut about what he’d learned in Atlas.

\---

Later in the day, combat class rolled around and standing across from each other, was Hjøphiël and Cardin. The room surrounding the ring darkened to emphasize the two combatants over all else.

Spinning his mace in his hands, the bulkier of the two sneered at the slighter brunet, puffing himself up as he tried to intimidate him. “Well, well, look who didn’t pussy out. What’s your plan? Run to the stands and try to get the girls to beat me up for you?”

Hjøphiël just stared at the redhead, looking mightily unimpressed as he made only the slightest effort to suppress a yawn before rolling his shoulders and shifting into a stance very few people in the audience actually recognized at a glance. Notably, he didn’t draw his weapon or actually respond to Cardin. Instead, he just motioned for the taller figure to come at him.

At the stands, Ichabod stiffened upon seeing his leader's position, recognizing the way he held up a hand at chest height, with the other low, yet at the ready. It was familiar, uncomfortably so, but he couldn't quite place who exactly was it that took a stance like that.

He took a deep, long breath, trying to steady himself. He quickly glanced about the room, trying to distract himself, and instantly noticed something at Ruby's group; Weiss had also visibly gone rigid, just as he had. Why would she recognize it too?

He only hoped it was some sort of contrived coincidence.

“What, you think you’re gonna look all cool like some kinda shitty Mistralian Kung Fu Star?” Cardin roared as he charged forward, his grip tightening on Executioner as he brought it up to slam it into his opponent’s chin.

The next few seconds were a blur as Cardin’s sight became a vertigo-inducing mess, he felt all the momentum in his body rapidly shift and he slammed back-first into the ground so hard he bounced off it, followed up by a hard impact sending him flying into the bars which served as the edge of the ring, his Aura shattering in the process.

Splayed out, thoroughly confused, and slapping his forehead, it took Cardin a moment to realize he no longer had Executioner in hand.

Then, he heard a rapid series of clicks, metallic shearing, and the distinct sound of loose Dust hitting the floor. Raising his gaze, he only just caught the tail end of Vanta rapidly and with stupefying ease disassembling the mace designed for fighting humans, letting most of the pieces fall to his feet along with the Dust that had been contained in the chamber - save for the head of the weapon. That, Vanta held aloft like he was presenting it to the taller figure, before disdainfully tossing it aside, a loud clatter sounding out and breaking the utter silence that had fallen over the room.

The longer-haired brunet then fell back into his previous stance, once again signalling for Cardin to come at him, expression steely and focused entirely on him.

"Carmine!" Ichabod muttered in complete stupefaction as he saw the scene before his eyes, clenching his fists and teeth as the image of a dusky-skinned, redheaded woman wearing a chainmail halter top superimposed itself on Hjøphiël's body.

Before it could fully come into focus, he covered his face with a hand, his nails trailing harshly on his forehead. The pain brought him back but the question still remained; how?

Cardin let out another roar as he got to his feet, eyes blazing at the sight of his weapon in pieces, charging shoulder first. “Like hell I’m gonna let some cowardly bitch who needs to take weapons apart beat me-!”

The result was much the same as the last, though this time, as Hjøphiël parried Cardin’s charge and riposted by using the larger man’s momentum and size against him, rather than bouncing him off the ground to kick him into a wall again, he instead flipped Cardin and carried through by flipping with him. Slamming Winchester headfirst into the metal tilework of the combat ring in something not entirely dissimilar to a pro wrestling move, Cardin actually spun like a top on the crown of his head for a moment before falling over unceremoniously and staying down this time.

Meanwhile, Hjøphiël had used the momentum of the full-body throw to gracefully upright himself and land on his feet with incredible ease. He stood there for a moment, staring at his opponent, and when he didn’t move again, he brushed off his jacket and nodded towards Glynda. “I think he’s out, ma’am.”

Not a single sweat broken nor fuck given. The complete and utter opposite of his downright pathetic display against the Doomantler.

Trent’s eyebrows ticked up as he took in the display, noting what movements he could catch. He nodded to himself as he jotted down a reminder in his notebook. He would definitely need to see about learning those moves, so he could incorporate them into his style.

Samael, on the other hand, was merely pleased to see that his leader did have some level of fighting competence, even if it apparently didn’t extend to Grimm. While the ex-Canadian had some good moves, they’d clash poorly with his own unarmed fighting style.

Ichabod meanwhile...Ichabod had so many questions and he wasn't sure he wanted to start asking them.

Glynda just looked between Hjøphiël and the thoroughly knocked-out Cardin, and sighed, shaking her head in bemusement. She was just annoyed at the confirmation of Ozpin’s assumptions, honestly. “That will do, Vanta,” she declared as she levitated Cardin off the floor and out of the ring, setting him down somewhere out of the way. “Please return to your seat so that class may resume.”

The Atlesian did as he was instructed, ignoring the stupefied stares of the entire classroom - save for six particular sets of eyes. Ichabod, Weiss, Ruby, Pyrrha Nikos, Yang, and Blake were instead hyper-focused on him, studying him carefully and meticulously. Blake, at least, was more subtle about it than the others.

No further shenanigans occurred for the remainder of combat class, Cardin laying face-down in the background out of the way the entire time.


	11. Hot Topic

A few days had passed since Hjøphiël’s summary dismantling of Cardin, during which time the ginger bully had seemingly decided to lick his wounds and not provoke Team HITS. Classes had continued with little fanfare beyond Professor Port bringing an Ursa to his second class, which was promptly and brutally demolished by Nora.

Once the weekend rolled around, Samael and Trent took a Bullhead into Vale, both to take some time off and to acquire an apology card for Weiss. They had attempted to bring Ichabod along, but Ruby had kidnapped him, murmuring dark things about drawing up proper plans for the final form of his weapon’s customization. Naturally, the duo left him to his well-deserved fate without a second thought.

A bit of wandering in Vale’s shopping district found the teammates in a stationery and gift store, Samael perusing the rows of cards while Trent offered commentary on his picks. The man behind the counter, meanwhile, was giving them the gimlet eye.

“Samael, you absolute grognard, that’s not an appropriate apology card,” Trent declared, pulling the folded paper from his hands and replacing it on the shelf. It was a gaudy design, covered in crows and withered trees. “I know that it’s your aesthetic, but goddamn it, we gotta try and keep this above board, or Goodwitch will have your ass in a sling.”

Samael blinked as he lowered his hand from the card in question, then rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll bite; what would you say qualifies for an ‘I’m sorry my disgusting Semblance humiliated you in front of the school’ card?”

“Not what looked to be an invitation to her own funeral,” the blond replied flatly, his mouth a thin line as he stepped down the aisle. Pulling out a different card, he showed the artwork to his friend as he explained, “Now this, this is an appropriate apology card. The artwork of a pleasant forest glen is calming and has a peaceful aura, not a gravestone or skull in sight. Additionally, the inside is blank so you can write a full, proper apology.”

Samael looked the card over, raised a finger, then lowered it with a sigh, “Well, I can’t say you’re wrong. You did come along to keep me from making an ass of myself again, which I do appreciate, so I suppose I ought to listen to your advice.”

“No problem,” Trent said as he replaced the card, and pulled out another, this one bearing a simple floral pattern. “Now, you can never go wrong with the classics, and well, let’s face it: Weiss wouldn’t trust flowers from us for shit. So, put’em on a card!”

Samael gave a grunt, examining the card. “Yeah, she’d probably think I put more maggots in ‘em.” After a moment, he replaced it, another card having caught his eye.

“What about this one?” It was austere and white, with simple yet elegant black lettering and regal bordering reminiscent of a coat of arms. The inside was bare, with plenty of room for a handwritten apology.

The former Canadian considered the card, his hand coming up to massage his chin as he studied it. “Now, that one is pretty good for our purposes, though it does feel a tad sterile to me, if only because of the lack of colour. However, the elegant bordering and lettering would likely appeal to her. Overall, I rate it a five out of seven, not enough water.”

Samael gave him a look, his piss-yellow eyes looking especially dead. Rather than commenting, though, he merely tugged at the open collar of his trenchcoat and took the card up to the counter.

The shopkeeper's glare didn’t let up as he scanned the card, tapping numbers into the till with more force than strictly necessary. When the total was displayed on the customer-facing screen, Samael was unsurprised to see that he apparently owed eight Lien, rather than the four that the card had been listed as.

Though his scale-edged lips pulled downwards slightly at the blatant discrimination, Samael didn’t raise a fuss and forked over a few Lien cards wordlessly. He was used to such treatment.

As they left the store, Trent made a point to hand his friend Lien equal to the amount he was overcharged, shaking his head as he murmured, “I’m, like, seventy percent sure what he did was illegal. You kept the receipt, right?”

Samael took the offered money without shame and gave a mirthless laugh. “On paper? Sure, it’s illegal. But you show me a judge that would rule in favour of a ‘Faunus street urchin’ over an ‘upstanding, productive member of society’ and I’ll show you a Grimm that doesn’t kill humans. And that’s not even considering legal fees...”

“Maybe, but we can also use the information and proof of his scummery against him, spread the word that he’s actively overcharging Faunus and they’ll know to avoid his shop, people who sympathize with their plight will also be encouraged to do the same,” The blond replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shook his head. After a moment’s thought, he grimaced and murmured, “Although, that could draw the eyes of the White Fang. While I’m all for dunking on racists, I’d rather not get someone fucking killed.”

“Exactly,” Samael replied. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but I’d even less like to see people murdered in my name.”

“Yeah, and I’d rather not be the person who started a lynch mob on its way to burning a man at the stake.” After a few quiet moments, Trent stretched and sniffed the air. “Wanna grab some donuts before we head back to Beacon?”

Samael licked his lips. It had been about five days since his last meal; he was probably good to eat again…

They would be featured on the news that evening, as they were banned for life from the donut shop they visited, after making too many people ill from the sight of Trent literally pouring pastries down his friend’s gaping maw.

\---

The elevator doors to Ozpin’s office slid open, tearing the ‘out of order’ sign on the outside in half as they did so. The ashen-haired headmaster glanced up from a sheaf of papers on his desk, brows popping somewhat as he acknowledged the newcomer. “Ah, mister Vanta, I see the day has been treating you well. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, the blue midday sky framing him rather photogenically as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips, taking a generous sip of the piping hot liquid within.

“Hello, Headmaster,” Hjøphiël nodded as he stepped through the elevator doors, briskly marching up to Ozpin’s desk and standing at ease. “I was just wondering if there has been any word on that artifact you mentioned earlier - the one that’s supposed to suppress Semblances? I’ve been making an effort to be patient, but there was very nearly an… incident, involving Miss Nikos and Xiao Long. So I’m starting to get a little antsy here,” the brunet said, doing his level best to stay professional and respectful.

“Oh yes, it’s here. Here you go,” Ozpin declared as he reached behind the desk, grabbed a box the size of a personal pan pizza sleeve, and set it on the desk before sliding it to the far end Hjøphiël was standing at.

Hjøphiël stared, blinked, then stared some more. “Wait, what,” he eventually managed.

“I am a busy man, mister Vanta, things tend to slip my mind from time to time,” was the forest green-garbed man’s response.

Hjøphiël blinked owlishly, staring at the box in front of him. “...that's it?”

“That’s it.”

“Right there?”

“Right there.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am serious.”

Hjøphiël hadn’t removed his dinner-plate-sized eyes from the box, just staring, uncomprehending. This seemed… too easy. Something about this just felt off to him in a way he couldn’t quite figure out, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Are you not interested in it anymore, Mister Vanta?” Ozpin asked, fingers steepled in front of his face as he gazed at the younger man in a reserved, level manner. “Well, if you’ve chosen to simply live with your unfortunate Semblance…”

“N-no, I just,” Hjøphiël took a breath, shook his head, and reached out to pick up the box. It was a simple cardboard thing, nothing to indicate there was anything special about it or contained within. But to think, it supposedly contained the solution to this godforsaken Semblance’s problem, this damned thing that ruined his life and forced him on the run…

He almost didn’t want to crack the box open. Worried that it may be some cruel joke on the headmaster’s part. Though that didn’t seem like the sort of thing he’d do, admittedly.

So, taking a deep breath, he thumbed open the simple hinged lid, and laid eyes upon his salvation.

There was a beat.

It extended.

To an increasingly uncomfortable extent.

The silence seemed to stretch into infinity, Hjøphiël’s eyes locked on the so-called artifact inside.

“Is it to your liking, Mister Vanta?” Ozpin eventually asked in an entirely nonplussed manner, his lips upturning ever-so-slightly.

“Would you happen to have any other Semblance-suppressing artifacts on hand?” Hjøphiël asked, his voice breaking in despair just a tad.

“No,” came the matter-of-fact, merciless response, followed up with a long, loud sip of his coffee.

He now understood why it seemed too easy.

Reaching up and pinching the artifact between his thumb and forefinger, Hjøphiël stared at it, pain mounting on his grimacing features. Eventually, he set the box down, and with the now free hand, started to fiddle with-

“The chains don’t come off,” Ozpin matter-of-factly informed him.

A minute wince followed by a sigh. After a few moments, he moved to instead tap at the-

“The studs don’t come out either,” Ozpin added with precisely negative amounts of mercy.

The grimace became more overt, an expression of pain and agony somehow stretching across his entire form as he, in one last, futile attempt, reached to tug at-

“The reversed cross is also a permanent fixture on the collar, Mister Vanta,” Ozpin delivered the finishing blow as Hjøphiël’s legs nearly gave out from under him. “Oh, it isn’t that bad. The artifact’s previous owner quite liked the look of it, in fact. Asserted that it gave him ‘ideas’ for an ‘aesthetic.’

Evidently, that asshole’s aesthetic was ‘Hot Topic,’ and that already made Hjøphiël hate the bastard. “This looks like something Samael would consider to be a bit much,” the Atlesian muttered in absolute, dejected defeat.

“Fantastic, then you can use it to engage in some of that ‘one-upmanship’ that’s all the rage among the youth these days. Mayhaps he’ll see your new accessory and decide he must upstage you in turn?”

“I ain’t gotten the impression that Sammy’s suicidal, Teach,” Hjøphiël quietly despaired, slumping where he stood as he just stared at the damned jet black studded leather choker with an upside-down stylized cross hanging from the front, a single chain connected on either horizontal prong of the cross, clearly meant to wrap around the neck and rest on the shoulders.

Silence hung between the two, Hjøphiël just staring at the gimpish nightmare in his hands that dared to present itself as his salvation. Ozpin just quietly stared, eventually piping up again. “Well, aren’t you going to put it on?”

Much as the idea made him wanna die, the whole ‘uncontrollable hentai protagonist aura’ bit had gotten really old, so… at the very least, he supposed that he might as well see if the damned thing fit or not.

With quiet resignation, he fastened the damn thing in place, snapped the… apparently magnetic clasp shut, and grimaced in discomfort. “It’s a bit tight- eh?” just as he’d noticed the pressure around his neck, it faded, and the thing felt downright tailor-made for him. “-Never mind, I guess?”

“Yes, the artifact’s previous owner suggested that it automatically adjusts to fit its wearer as well. It’s good to have that confirmed if nothing else. So, do you feel any different?”

Hjøphiël blinked and waited. Eventually, he replied. “No? Wait, this damned thing isn’t broken, is it-”

“It shouldn’t be, though I suppose that we can ask for a second opinion…” he leaned over slightly as if to peer over Hjøphiël’s shoulder. “What do you think, Glynda?”

“I would wager that the Semblance Breaker is doing its job exactly as intended,” the combat class teacher declared from right behind Hjøphiël and into his ear.

Needless to say, the Atlesian shrieked like a frightened little girl as he jumped, tripped, and scrambled away from Glynda, who had been well within arm’s reach of him.

The imperious blonde just rolled her emerald green eyes at the gesture, standing with her back straight and her uniform prim and proper as ever as she turned to face the amber-eyed Headmaster directly. “This will hopefully make classes with Mister Vanta far easier to plan. Several female members of the class have been interested in testing his ‘curiously’ adept fighting style, and I’ve begun to find the process of explaining to them the dangers of getting close enough to the young man to strike rather pedestrian.”

“Indeed. Now, if you’ll pick your jaw off the floor young man, there are other matters we need to discuss,” Ozpin declared to Hjøphiël, motioning for him to stand before taking a ponderous, maddeningly loud sip of his drink.

Hjøphiël was stuck between having just about the worst heart attack he’d experienced since Winter Schnee got caught in his Semblance, and horror at the thought that if the collar hadn’t worked, Glynda would’ve probably moved to use her riding crop on him while he had the perfect accessory to serve double duty as fucking reins secured around his neck.

Hjøphiël did not like it rough, damn it!

“On your feet, Vanta,” Glynda proclaimed, lashing out at the air with her riding crop, producing an audible crack as it did so. “Or I’ll give you a reason to wheeze on the floor like a beaten dog.”

“Glynda, phrasing,” Ozpin chastised the casual dominatrix even as Hjøphiël sprang to his feet like a man leaping back from the pit leading to the fiery chasm of Hell.

“...For what?” the blonde asked with genuine confusion as she adjusted her glasses, her stern disappointed librarian look never once leaving her features.

The headmaster chuckled heartily at that, placing a hand over his chest as he shook his head in amusement. “The most mature and dominant women in the academy, yet still as innocent as a babe swaddled against her mother’s bosom; never change, Glynda, never change,” Ozpin requested of the woman that narrowed her eyes bemusedly at him, still not seeming to understand what he was getting at.

Taking a minute to calm himself and stop laughing, Ozpin eventually turned back to Hjøphiël, now standing rigidly at attention.

“Right, Mister Vanta. Might I request that you stop making it so incredibly obvious that you’re an Atlesian military deserter?”

At that, Hjøphiël 404’d. Face blank, freeze response activated.

“It really is quite ridiculous, Vanta,” Glynda added as she casually tapped her palm with the end of her riding crop. “Huntsmen academies tend to instill some degree of discipline, yes, but it’s almost coming across as if you’re trying to signpost to everyone in Beacon that there’s probably a warrant for your arrest in Atlas.”

Hjøphiël looked between the pair, a cold sweat having rapidly formed on his forehead as he tried to find a way out of this. “I can explain-”

“Specialist Winter Schnee stumbled into your Semblance’s area-of-effect, and the following morning, it was noticed that nobody saw you after the fact, and could not find you anywhere on the base, or within the city itself either,” Ozpin cut him off, fingers interlocking on the desktop, gazing at the younger man dispassionately. “I am no fool, Mister Vanta. It wasn’t difficult to piece together what brought you here after you did such a terrible job of hiding your training from everyone.”

“I legitimately cannot fathom what you were thinking, showing off Atlesian Combatives in the middle of class like that…” Glynda shook her head in blatant disapproval. “Were Wiess Schnee not so terrified of your entire team, I’d wager she’d have already confronted you about using that style which is only taught to career soldiers who have already sworn their oaths of loyalty to the Atlas Armed Forces.”

Hjøphiël had stopped blinking, staring into the void as he willed for his soul to leave his body and just let him die. When the end did not come, it was all he could do to let out a strangled whine upon having just how badly he’d fucked up laid out to him.

“Yes, quite,” Ozpin agreed with the sound of pain Hjøphiël emitted. “Now, I may technically be legally allowed to shelter you from legal repercussions owing to a particular bureaucratic oopsie that was never properly addressed following the formalization of the Vytal Accords, since you are officially a student of Beacon academy and technically a citizen of Vale and technically a member of my extended family-”

Hjøphiël’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water with every word out of Ozpin’s mouth. “Wait, what-”

“But I digress,” Ozpin waved the topic off. “General Ironwood will not be pleased to find that I’ve been housing you here, and James is exactly the type to furiously ram amendments into legislation to address issues just like this… so, if it would not be too much to ask, could you please tone down the flagrant goose-stepping which seems to come so naturally to you, Mister Vanta?”

Lips drawn into a taut line, Hjøphiël couldn’t even accuse Ozpin of having crossed a line there. Atlas did flirt pretty fucking heavily with fascism at the best of times. “I’ll… do my best to avoid exposing myself to the academy, professor.”

Ozpin sighed and pinched his brow. “Oh my no, now there are two of them…”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Glynda demanded, intimidatingly slapping the palm of her hand with her riding crop. “Please don’t give me reason to bend you over the table and show you what for, Headmaster.”

“All these years, and she still can’t hear it…” Ozpin just shook his head, making a shooing motion at Hjøphiël. “Okay, that should be all, Mister Vanta. I do hope your new artifact makes life at the academy a smidgen more bearable for you.”

“Right, thank you, sir-” Hjøphiël moved to salute, and only just caught himself and instead turned it into an incredibly painful-looking full-body cringe instead. “-Thank you, professor. I’m sure it’ll make things a lot easier-” he moved to unclasp it, and his fingers slipped from the clasp not once, not twice, but thrice in a row. Pausing, the Atlesian furrowed his brow and tried to more deliberately work the magnetic clasp. His lips drew into a grimace as he pulled, and pulled and-

“Oh, the collar isn’t removable once it’s been put on,” Ozpin remarked once he glanced up to see why Hjøphiël was still standing there.

Hjøphiël blinked and went very quiet and very still. A few pregnant moments passed before he spoke. “...Is there not a way to remove it?” He asked.

“Well, death,” Ozpin shrugged. “I didn’t imagine that you would want to take it off with the way you spoke of your Semblance. I suppose you might’ve reconsidered taking it if you’d known it was a permanent fixture-”

“ _Golly gee you fucking think!?_ ” Hjøphiël was now yanking at the cross full force, snarling and gnashing his teeth as he nearly fell over and fought like a dog the first time on a chain to no avail. He didn’t want to have this awful Hot Topic piece of shit all the time it made him look like a fucking Goth or Emo kid or like he was into weird sex!

“Is that an invitation to follow up on my earlier warning, Vanta?” Glynda asked in a threatening tone as she flexed her riding crop between her hands, planting her feet wide apart as if centring herself to go on the attack. “Misbehaving boys get _punished_ , young man.”

“...The collar is working, right?” Ozpin worriedly wondered aloud as he rose from his seat and leaned over the desk to get a clearer look at Hjøphiël, who was still panicking and ignoring Glynda’s overly and (apparently) unintentionally sexual threats. “I swear, she has to be doing it on purpose at this point…”


	12. The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

Hjøphiël stepped out of the central tower leading to Ozpin’s office, fiddling with the damned leather choker stuck in place around his neck, idly detesting how it only exacerbated the shitty punk-gothic look he didn’t realize he’d taken on when he tried to look more the part of a common Vale Huntsman (which is to say, a fashion disaster). More and more he was regretting his decision to just buy second-hand bracelets and a leather hip holster, both studded, at that shitty thrift shop.  
  
Maybe he should’ve just bought accessories from the same pawn shop where he sold his old military equipment sans his gun and sword after all.  
  
Even if he stopped wearing the bracelets and replaced the holster, the fucking collar was going to override any fashion choices he made to try countering it. Not to mention that it made him look like some kinda weird sex pervert-  
  
“Hey hey _hey_ there biiiig sexy,” Yang’s voice came from behind, stepping out from around the tree overlooking the tower entrance as he felt the blonde grab onto the chain hanging over his shoulders and across his back. “Nice to see this stallion comes pre-reined,” she chortled lecherously.  
  
Hjøphiël, given his entire life up to that point, immediately shrieked like a little girl and attempted to dash forward to escape from the lass that had actually grabbed him. Said squeal was harshly cut off by a loud choking cry as the collar, still held by Yang, prevented him from doing much more than partially crushing his own windpipe as his legs shot out from under him and he wound up splayed out on the ground, coughing and choking while clutching at his throat.  
  
Had he mentioned that he hated this fucking collar yet?  
  
“Whoa, easy there boy,” Yang chortled in an exaggerated spaghetti western accent as she popped a squat next to the brunet, planting a hand on her cheek as she smiled broadly down at the prone and suffering young military deserter, moving to play with the cross dangling from his neck. “Gotta have to get you saddle broken then, huh? Don’t want you spooking every time someone tries to take ya for a ride,” she declared, dropping the cross and drumming her fingers on the leather band around his throat.  
  
“ _Why_ ,” was all Hjøphiël could manage at that moment, on the one hand on the verge of panicking, on the other idly realizing that she wasn’t trying to shove her hands down his pants. So the collar, by some cruel providence, was doing its job.  
  
“Hey, you’re the one dressing up like a girl’s moody young adult romance novel love interest,” the sporty girl asserted, fixing the collar of his monochromatic military-style coat. “Don’t act like you ain’t angling for attention.”  
  
“ _I’m not!_ ” Hjøphiël protested, batting her hand away as he pushed himself up to his rear, giving the smug blonde a reproachful look. “These are normal clothes! I bought them at a damned thrift shop!”  
  
“The one across the street from the chicken place with the bird Faunus mascot?” Yang immediately inquired, her smug aura only intensifying.  
  
Hjøphiël’s expression shifted to one of worry as he drew his lips into a thin line before answering. “...Yes?”  
  
“That’s where Ruby shops for new accessories and boots too,” Yang’s impish grin reached heretofore unmatched levels. “Maybe you two should swap notes- not too many though, I don’t need you giving my pure little baby sister _ideas_ ,” she declared as she tugged at the chain dangling from his neck with a coquettish grin.  
  
“ _Cease!_ ” Hjøphiël cried as he slapped her hand away again.  
  
“Whoa, down boy!” Yang’s smile only intensified as she giggled with an inappropriate degree of girlishness. “Easy there, Crazy Horse, you’ll mess up your mane getting all worked up like that, then I’ll have to spend hours getting it all pretty and brushed down again~” she asserted playfully.  
  
Though he smacked her hand away again when she went to stroke his long, drawn back hair, he did have to hesitate and furrow his brow in heavy consideration. Was it still racist to refer to him as something like that? Did he still count as ethnic? Fucking reincarnation bullshit-  
  
“Aw, don’t be like that sugar cube,” Yang cooed as she planted her chin on her fist, broadly grinning at Hjøphiël. “Would my handsome stallion calm down a little bit if I gave him a sweet apple?”  
  
“By the blackest pits of the Grimm’s domain, you’re acting like a horny loon-”  
  
“Because I am?”  
  
“-with no self-control! Calm yourself, woman!” Hjøphiël demanded of the golden-haired young lady.  
  
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m surrounded by hotties and boys with butts and more boys that come with fun-time accessories pre-installed!” Yang protested at him, then she set a finger to her lip for a moment as she seemed to consider something before poking him in the side. “Actually, turn over for a minute, I wanna see how your junk compares to Blackmore’s and Kali’s-”  
  
“Alright, this is getting to be a bit much,” Hjøphiël began as he moved to pop himself back onto his feet by transitioning into a squat-to-stand, “ so I’m just gonna-”  
  
“ _Gods damn why there so many bumpin’ booties ‘round here?_ ” Yang cried out joyously as Hjøphiël foolishly stood in a way that emphasized his rear, however momentarily. “Hey, Kali, get down here so I can get a side-by-side comparison of the best booties in Beacon!”  
  
“No,” came a thoroughly disinterested voice from the tree Yang had previously been lounging under, bright golden eyes almost seeming to glow in utter disdain as the ravenette continued to try reading her book, hidden in the branches as she was.  
  
“C’mon, don’t be like that, we’re in the springtime of our youth!” Yang asserted as she rose to her feet, stomped over to the tree trunk and started jostling it as if to shake the monochromatic young lady from her hiding spot. “If we don’t have fun now, before we know it we’ll be dusty old bints wearing shawls sittin’ in rocking chairs and regretting all the boys we didn’t smash when we had the chance! Now get down here and gimme a faceful of that Bellabooty!”  
  
“I refuse,” Blake all but groaned, seemingly unperturbed by the blonde’s attempts to shake her from the tree. “Don’t involve me in your blonde-headed debauchery and shenanigans.”  
  
“Hey! Was that a shot at my intelligence?” Yang demanded, planting her hands on her hips. “Good one! That means my negative influence is actually having an effect!” She chuckled, shaking her head as she started to turn around. “Hey, Easy Rider, did you know that you could barely get her to make a snide remark when I found her- HEY GET BACK HERE COWARD!”  
  
Hjøphiël had taken Yang’s distraction as an opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Unfortunately, he quickly found out that, for one, the girl’s attention snapped around like a cracked-out hummingbird, and two, _she had a pair of legs on her like an all-star quarterback_. Demonstrated by the girl dead-ass charging and tackling him to the ground, eliciting another yelp from the put-upon lad whose luck seemed to be getting worse by the minute.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Hjøphiël cried out, starting to wonder if the damned collar was malfunctioning or something, trying and failing to scramble away.  
  
“Kali’s boring, Schnee’s a bitch, and Ruby’s off-limits!” Yang asserted, grinning widely as she buried her face in Hjøphiël’s waist. “And you’re literally asking for it with that collar!”  
  
“ _I hate this fucking thing and can’t take it off!_ ” the Altesian protested, infuriated that the collar was already causing as many problems as it was solving.  
  
“What? Sure you can-” Yang rose to all fours, scooted up to easily take a hold of the cross, then yanked on it. “Wait, what,” she said, expression falling flat as she tugged on it harder, then started using both hands, ignoring Hjøphiël’s cries and pleas for a thoroughly disinterested Blake to help. “Shit, you really can’t! What is this thing like super-glued on or something? Was it Trent? That seems like the sorta thing Trent would do, he seems like a prick like that. Fun prick, but still a prick, know what I’m saying?”  
  
“Where the fuck is all this energy coming from!?” Hjøphiël cried out as he tried to wrench her hands free from the collar.  
  
“ _FROM A LACK OF OUTLETS BECAUSE OF ALL THESE BORING, BIG-BOTTOMED PRUDES IN BEACON!”_ Yang cried out, no small amount of genuine frustration leaking into her voice right before she dropped the cross, letting Hjøphiël flop onto his back with a thud. “So, you don’t actually like the collar? It seems to fit the rest of your aesthetic though.”  
  
“I already said that these damned bracelets and holsters were all that were available at the thrift store! I was just trying to fit into Vale by dressing like a fashion disaster like the rest of you!”  
  
“Hey! Puffy sleeves are _in_ this year, I’ll have you know!” Yang defended her poofy short jacket sleeves, crossing her arms over her chest. “Anyways, if you hate the collar so much, just cover it up, easy peasy lemon squeezy,” she shrugged, still straddling Hjøphiël’s prone form in public with nary a care in the world.  
  
“With what? Not everyone happens to have a collection of scarves, you know!” the brunet cried out, hitting the grassy field with the underside of his hand in frustration.  
  
Yang went quiet at that, her expression going neutral for a few moments before twisting into something which could only be adequately compared to the Grinch’s foul impish countenance. “Oh, you need a scarf then, buddy? Well, good news! I just so happen to have a spare you can use! Aren’t I beautiful and magnanimous?”  
  
Hjøphiël blinked, mulled on it, and considered the proposal while giving the basic brown scarf the girl was wearing a critical eye. Scarves weren’t really his thing, but… well, it’d cover up the damned collar. “You know what, sure, if it’ll make it less obvious that I’m wearing this damned thing…”  
  
“Great!” Yang nodded from where she was still openly straddling the Atlesian. “So you can pay me back with a hot date on the town at this seedy bar I happen to know-”  
  
At that point, Hjøphiël, feeling a rush of mortal danger, performed a technique meant to force attackers to dismount in a ground battle and leave them open for attack themselves to get Yang the hell off of him so he could escape.  
  
He smacked the bitch off in a bright yellow flare of her Aura and a surprised shriek, quickly rolling away and bolting off with a sprinter’s start.  
  
“If you’re trying to discourage me, playing rough is the exact wrong way to do it, Slap Daddy!” Yang called after him even as he made tracks and effectively left an afterimage. The provocative-clad lady lay on her side, propped up on her elbow with a frustrated expression on her face. After a few moments, she turned over and called back up to the tree. “Hey, Kali! How about a perfectly friendly wrestling match with your partner to encourage learning the basics of close-quarters combat?”  
  
“I refuse,” Blake intoned with a complete and absolute lack of interest.  
  
“ _Uuuuggghhh, pruuuuudes!_ ” Yang whined as she flopped down on the grassy field and kicked her legs like a petulant letcher.  
  
\---  
  
The day after the incident that would later be known as “The Great Pastry Voring of 80”, Samael sat in their dorm, looming over a writing desk, pen scratching away at spare paper. Dozens of discarded, balled-up pages littered the area around the communal wastebasket, with a handful more having actually made it into the bin.  
  
After a few minutes, he scrutinized the page he’d written his latest draft on, groaned, and leaned back in his chair. Of course, he overbalanced, toppling backwards with a crash, his hat and pen going flying in different directions. Samael gave another groan, this one of a rather _different_ sort of annoyance.  
  
At about that moment, the door to the dorm opened, admitting Trent into the room, holding a shiny red apple.  
  
Standing in the door, staring down at his compeer. His eyes flicked around to the various pages littering the ground and desk. Lifting the apple in his hand to his mouth and taking a bite, he quickly chewed and swallowed.  
  
“So, how’s that apology letter going, champ?”  
  
After rolling out of the toppled chair and regaining his feet with a decidedly unnerving, full-body undulation, the Faunus replied seriously, “Decidedly _not_ poggers.” After casually committing that thoroughly cringechamp crime against language, Samael stooped to pick up the chair.  
  
“That’s not very based of you, sport,” the blond replied as he took another bite of his snack, slumping down to sit on his bed. “Tell Papa Trent of your woes; let us see what can be done, my nuggie.”  
  
In response, Samael folded his latest draft into a paper shuriken and sent it flying over to his teammate. “Take a look for yourself, T-Daddy. I can’t seem to get shit right.”  
  
Catching the paper in a closed fist and turning it into a wad, he unfolded the draft to give it a read. After finishing, he took another bite of his apple, and read it again. After repeating the process for a third time, he asked, “Samael, I gotta ask, are you trying to make things worse, you stupid gutter-licking cheese knobber?”  
  
“Okay, first of all, gutter McDusties is better than going hungry,” Samael noted with a grimace, “Second, _no, I am not_. That’s why I’m asking you for your advice.” He scooped his hat off the ground, dusted it off, and put it on his head before sitting back down. “So what’s the issue?”  
  
“Did you not think about how demeaning and misogynistic it sounds when you say that you’ll ‘Not raise hand nor blade to defend yourself,’ and that you’ll ‘willingly pay for your sins in the coin of blood?’” Trent asked as he slapped the paper with the back of his hand, shooting a dry look at the Faunus. “For one, she’s trained for years to prove herself as a Hunter, and you’re just insulting that effort. Second, it also sounds vaguely threatening and/or cultish when you write it in your usual idiom. Just write like a normal person for this.”  
  
As Trent spoke, Samael’s eyes widened. When he was done, the Faunus dropped his head to the table with another groan. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ I can’t _believe_ I didn’t think of it that way.” He lifted his head and looked over at Trent. “Thank you for saving me from my own social ineptitude, Papa Trent.”  
  
“You don’t have to beat yourself up that hard, dude,” the blond declared as he stood up and walked over to his friend, giving him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “Now, you just gotta fix that apology up and we can see about either handing it off to Ruby or to Nora and Ren.”  
  
Samael gave a nod, proceeded to sequentially pop every joint in his hands, neck, and back, then set to work.  
  
Trent’s mouth pulled into a grimace as he looked down at his apple. “Did you _need_ to do that? I wasn’t finished eating.”  
  
Samael gave a snort. “Cry me a river, bubble butt.”  
  
“So, what’s your plan for writing a proper apology?” the blond asked, spitefully taking a large bite of his apple and chewing it as obnoxiously as he could manage.  
  
“Well,” Samael said over the sound of gnashing molars and mashing fruit, “it’s become pretty clear that if I overcomplicate things, I give myself more room to cock it up. So I’m gonna stop overthinking and just do a simple, clean ‘I’m sorry.’” He looked over at Trent. “You think that’ll be enough, or..?”  
  
“The only way you could cock that up is if you wrote something like ‘Sorry for stripping you down to your birthday suit in front of the entire school,’ or if you wrote it like a two-year-old,” Trent remarked, giving his head a shake. “Otherwise, you should be fine by apologizing.”  
  
Samael winced. “I may be socially inept, but even _I_ wouldn’t go that far.”  
  
Throwing his apple core in the trash can, Trent fixed the Faunus with a gimlet eye. “Who nearly sent her into a fit by ambushing her in the hall?”  
  
“Hey, fuck you mayne,” Samael shot back, before returning to his work.  
  
\---  
  
Meanwhile, off of Beacon, all the way up on a small office in a watchtower overlooking the docks of Vale, Ichabod sat on a fold-up chair, discreetly fiddling around with one of the ends of his poncho. The small office was a decidedly uncomfortable place to be at, with the flickering light, the pungent stench of cigarette smoke impregnated onto every wall, and the poor quality, years-old furnishings on it.  
  
Past a beat-up metal desk with a large, nasty, apple-shaped dent right down the middle, there sat a tanned, short-haired blonde woman in a plain white shirt, staring at him with a critical eye, her hands clasped in front of her face. She was rather mature, and while she had a certain coquettish vibe to her, she was starting to get hit _real bad_ by age; crow's feet, visible pores, wrinkles and dry skin all stood out in her face rather strongly and it seemed like she had given up on trying to hide those traits. That or she just _couldn't_ do it without overcorrecting and looking worse.  
  
"Right...so y'd mind repeatin' that?" The woman asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Ichabod internally clenched his anus and tried to keep his face from looking like he just bit into a lemon. He didn't want to _say it,_ but it was relevant information and he really wanted to land the job.  
  
"I've got some knowledge on how contraband is hidden on ships and such." He repeated his earlier statement with a blank tone. "Plus a bit of import and export law and legislation on top of that, if that's any help"  
  
"Shit, no joke?" she added numbly, "I figured y'were just pulling my leg, but you're actually serious. How'd y'even learn _that?_ "  
  
"I'm from Vacuo." Came his instant response. At that, the woman simply gave an "ah" of understanding. 'Nuff said, as far as both of them were concerned.  
  
The woman scratched at her head as she picked up a sheet of paper and looked it over. She lowered it slightly after a moment and turned to look at him, then back at the paper, then back at him, then again at the paper. She gave a defeated sigh after a moment.  
  
"Aight, y'know what? You're hired."  
  
Ichabod couldn't help himself and smiled widely upon hearing that he could finally get a means to pay back his debt to Ruby. He wanted to hold back his enthusiasm, but it just bled through. At least he wasn't doing a mariachi screaming laugh again.  
  
"We've got a lot of hands in the docks to do all we gotta do, but lately the police's been breathing down our neck about "not properly doing our part to stop crime", the lazy bastards." She said while rolling her eyes. "I'd rather not hire a part-timer, but I figure if you can find some illegal goods now and then and we report them, that oughta shut them up."  
  
Her eyes softened and she let out a different kind of sigh, one full of a deep, melancholic longing as she stared out the window, her eyes losing themselves into the sea.  
  
"Besides, it'd leave a sour taste in my mouth if I didn't do Lil' Biggie this favour."  
  
Ichabod's excitement got replaced with a sensation like his soul was slowly decaying from the raw, unadulterated cringe.  
  
"So, when do I start, boss?" He wasted no time in trying to change the topic and allowing Trent's old client to linger too much on the memory of his mathematically perfect ass.  
  
"Boss? Hah, you're the first person who actually bothers to call me that." She said with a smile before getting up from her seat. "I'll see you next week, same time. I'll show you the ropes, get you to know the people n' all that. Y'cool with that?"  
  
"Completely." The Vacuan student rose from his seat, his joints cracking as he did. When she offered him her hand for a shake, he took it.  
  
As he was leaving the shifty office, she called out from beyond the door. "Say hello to Lil' Biggie for me, will you! Tell him I'm always down for another go if he is!"  
  
"Will do!" Ichabod called out, his face already out of sight as he moved down the spiral staircase, preventing her from seeing the disgusted expression on his face.  
  
After he finished his job interview, the Vacuan made his way through the streets of Vale, just barely containing himself and avoiding walking with a skip and a hop to his step like he was crossing the border and playing rope over it. It was _very_ hard not to do that, all things considered.  
  
It had been a while since he felt this genuinely happy about having a job.


	13. Communion Snacc

“You know, Hjøë, there are more subtle ways of informing us of your alternative lifestyle than showing up with a gimp collar on,” Trent jabbed as he ambled along the corridor leading from their dorms towards the Great Hall. Putting his hands behind his head, he craned his head around to look at the Atlesian. “If you need help with a suit, the guy who made mine does bondage stuff on the side.”  
  
“First off, your ass is gay for pay and don’t try to deny that you wouldn’t take one for the right amount,” Hjøphiël stuck a finger in Trent’s chest, narrowing his eyes at the blond and speaking in a low rumble as he ignored the light jingling of his BDSM collar’s chain. “Secondly, Ozpin didn’t tell me this fucking thing literally binds itself to the wearer’s soul and will _kill them_ upon being removed when he gave it to me.”  
  
The blond shrugged, unabashedly replying, “Ain’t gay, but twenty lien’s twenty lien.”  
  
Samael looked askance at his teammates. “Are we just going to gloss over the fact that this thing could very well kill Hjøë? Like, I get that ‘binding to the wearer’s soul’ is a pretty big red flag that you probably should have asked more about,” he inclined his head to his partner, “but still. More than a little worrying.”  
  
"Well, considering the alternative is never being able to interact with a girl closer than four meters for the rest of his life..." Ichabod shrugged after replying to his piss-eyed chum, then he craned his neck to pop the bones inside with a satisfying crack. "I don't think we need to worry too much about it, it's not like that thing will get removed easily if it's legitimately bound to his soul. And if we see something that _could_ remove it, I think we'll have plenty more to be worried about."  
  
“The fact of the matter is that right now, we only really know so much about the item itself, let alone all its properties, beyond what Professor Ozpin has told us,” Trent added, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall to his side. “All we can do is wait, and watch it for any untoward signs. Like it growing needles inside the band and sucking out all your blood.”  
  
Samael scrutinized the choker and grimaced. “I don’t know what’s worse; the fact that you had that specific example ready and waiting, or the fact that I can absolutely imagine the edgy thing doing exactly that.”  
  
“Least I’ll never have to worry about attracting another girl with this fucking thing stuck around my neck again, at least-” Hjøphiël started as he mournfully lifted the cross to look at it.  
  
“OHMYGODTHAT’SSUCHACOOLCHOKERIT’SEVENGOTTHECROSSOFSAINTSILVERANDHISCHAINSOFRETRIBUTIONREPRESENTINGHOWHEWASLASHEDTOATREEBYHISPROSECUTORSBEFOREHERIPPEDTHEMTHROUGHTHETREEANDUSEDTHEMTOSLAUGHTERTHEUNWORTHYANDUNJUSTAAAAA-” A shrill, high-pitched scream of joy echoed down the hall as a thunderclap rapidly approached them in an explosion of flower petals which caused doors to shake in their frames and paintings to become slanted.  
  
Then, with an equally sudden, harsh squeal, Ruby barely came to a skidding stop on the varnished wood floor with a heavy grimace as she struggled to not keel over and wipe out entirely.  
  
“Oh no I forgot that Hjøphiël’s a gynecologist and I need to stay away from gynecologists because they’re super sensitive about girls ahhhh- I’m sorry, four metres, four metres!” she squeaked, coming to an abrupt stop the requisite four metres away from Team HITS and Hjøphiël in particular, teetering on the tips of her toes like she was about to fall off the edge of a cliff or building.  
  
Samael made a sort of choking noise, barely keeping from breaking down into cackles. He’d had half a mind to make a comment about _girls_ being sensitive about _gynecologists_ , but he didn’t want to be punched through a wall by Yang, who was rapidly catching up to her sister with the rest of Team RWBY.  
  
To nobody’s great surprise, Weiss spun on her heel and marched off in the opposite direction once she realized what Ruby had been running at. Blake gazed between the two groups, before silently turning and following in Weiss’ wake.  
  
The various other students departing from their rooms and heading for breakfast paid Team HITS little mind either, largely simply walking around them when necessary.  
  
Trent, ever the picture of social grace and gentlemanliness, decided to wave politely after the two before turning his attention back to the duo who decided to stick around. “It’s alright, apparently, it seals away his Semblance. If it doesn’t, well, we’ll find out pretty quickly, won’t we?”  
  
“I dunno,” Yang immediately started, marching past an increasingly confused Ruby with her hands on her hips and a wide smile on her face. “Might have to report a defective product, given how tantalizing a mount this pony looks!” she asserted as she moved right for a sputtering Hjøphiël.  
  
“Yang! Four metres!” Ruby protested, waving her arms at her elder ineffectually. “And also what pony? I want a pony! I could ride it into battle like a noble steed after training it to unlock its Aura!”  
  
“The only battle that your sister wants to ride the pony she’s talking about into is a night battle,” Trent remarked, his mouth twisting as he decided to see just how far they could push the innuendo that Yang had started.  
  
“No, she wouldn’t! Yang isn’t a Faunus, she can’t see in the dark!” Ruby declared in open confusion now, planting her hands on her hips as she leaned forward and glared daggers of confusion at Trent. A number of students, both human and Faunus spun around to give Ruby scandalized looks, while just as many seemed utterly unperturbed by the declaration.  
  
"Wait, is that a racism?" Ichabod whispered, barely audible, before turning to Samael and leaning in "Is that a racism, Sammy?"  
  
Samael shrugged, before muttering back, “It’s a stereotype, sure, but I don’t know if I’d consider it _racist_. I don’t have normal night vision, but I can see infra-red like a normal snake.”  
  
“It’s the sort of battle that’s fought very intimately, Ruby. The warriors in question sticking close to each other,” the blond explained, smiling gently as he explained it as vaguely as he could manage. “That’s why she doesn’t need to be able to see perfectly in the dark.”  
  
“ _Must you-?_ ” Hjøphiël started, whipping around to face Trent with a heavily furrowed brow and a snarl on his lips right before Yang closed the distance between them and drew something from behind her back, moving to deftly and quickly wrap it around his neck and lower face before he could process what was going on beyond letting out a surprised yelp.  
  
“Done and done!” Yang declared as she kept her hands on either end of the length of fabric. “Told you I’d let you have one of my old scarves! And look, it goes perfect with you!” The blonde leaned in with a lurid grin on her lips and her toothy maw glinting in the hallway lights. “I do like my meat _bacon-wrapped_ , after all.”  
  
“Looks like Yang’s looking to do a B’n’E on our room for something more than this newly borrowed scarf,” Trent drawled in amusement, his eyes drinking in the sight of the bewildered Hjøphiël, wrapped up in his new apparel. “My, hasn’t she made a snack of you.”  
  
Ichabod simply stood in stunned silence for several seconds, blinking several times as the hamster inside his head stopped running on the wheel. The second he was able to properly process what he was looking at, he gave out a full-bellied laugh, doubling over as he did.  
  
Samael did much the same, though he threw his head back and cackled like a mad scientist. After catching his breath, he offered, “Don’t be _cross_ , Hjøë. I don’t mean to _egg_ you on, but you need to take a _break_ from brooding, _fast_.”  
  
Dread was rising, a pit rapidly forming in the Atlesian’s stomach. He didn’t want to look at it, he didn’t want to see what curse had been inflicted on him. So terrified was he that he was blind to Yang’s continued invasion of his personal space. However, pain was something he’d believed himself conditioned to, and so, against all logic and reason, he took a hold of one end of the scarf and lifted it into view.  
  
A long, absurdly over-sized length of streaky, woollen bacon greeted him. A scarf knitted in the image of a long strip of bacon adorned with woollen sunny-side-up eggs the size of plates.  
  
Hjøphiël wanted to die.  
  
“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that!” Yang asserted with an amused chortle, tugging on the end of the scarf she still had a grip on playfully. “It fits you perfectly, just like Trent said, you’re even more of a tasty snack now!”  
  
“Yang! No!” Ruby, on the other hand, zipped in, giving her older sister a betrayed and reproachful look as she teetered and danced atop her toes in despair and dismay. “Dad got you that for Silver’s Tidings! You can’t just give it away, even if it’s to a friend!”  
  
“Oh, c’mon Rubes, don’t worry about it, I’m just… loaning it to him!” Yang asserted with a snap of her fingers, having plainly just come up with that placation on the spot. “He’ll give it back once he’s done with it, right, Hjøëy boy?”  
  
“I wanna die,” Hjøphiël responded, a glum shadow cast over his dull, lifeless eyes that were still locked on the woollen catastrophe wrapped around his neck.  
  
“Hey! No!” Ruby stomped her foot and jabbed her finger out at the much taller brunet, her little raven-coloured brow furrowing heavily as she glared at him. “It’s good to not fear dying, but wanting it is wrong and bad! ‘Fear not death, but so too embrace it not - the end comes for us all, and that is why we must cherish our time on Remnant and live our lives to the fullest and love our fellow man as charitably as our means may allow!’”  
  
Ichabod stood still, considering Ruby's sobering words after they completely wiped his smile from his mouth. He took a single breath and shook his head as he took a few steps towards the wall and faded further into the background of the conversation.  
  
Samael found himself nodding along with Ruby’s words, despite not knowing from where she drew them. That lined up pretty nicely with how he looked at the world, after all. Death was a natural part of life, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t live your best life while you had time left.  
  
Hjøphiël, meanwhile, was staring at Ruby with wide, uncomprehending eyes, thoroughly caught off-guard by the little perky gal’s words.  
  
“...Ah,” Yang caught his perplexion and popped a finger into the air as she explained. “Ruby’s kinda religious. That’s a favourite saying of one of her favourite Sisters back home, Sister Elspeth.”  
  
“It’s a quote from Silver’s Testament, and one the Bloodstained Sisters swear by!” Ruby excitedly declared, bouncing in place with a beaming smile on her face, evidently excited to be on this topic now. “Death is an inescapable aspect of life, and all journeys must end, but that doesn’t mean we should be sad or afraid of the end of the road, or even that we should dwell on the sadness that accompanies the departure of those we love. It’s better to instead focus on all the good they did, and how happy they made you and honour their memory by doing the right thing and making the world a better place for your fellow man!”  
  
Pensively, Trent rubbed at his chin, his eyes half-lidded. The quote was rather similar to one of the mantras he muttered to himself while training. Not perfectly alike, indeed, different in many key ways, but similar enough to make him think.  
  
“Yeah,” Yang chuckled, clasping her hands behind her back with a nod of her golden-topped head. “So if you were wondering why she’s dressed like a little Unchained Sister, that’s why.”  
  
Hjøphiël blinked again, looking at Ruby, scratching his cheek. “I had no idea that she’s wearing a religious outfit…”  
  
“Really? The Unchained are a pretty big deal in Vale,” Yang noted with some surprise, which transitioned into a teasing grin. “Just how fresh off the boat are you, country boy?”  
  
“Oi, I never heard of this religion in Atlas, a’ight?” Hjøphiël asserted, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. “It’s not my fault I only just learned of it now.”  
  
Yang’s grin widened tenfold as she started girlishly giggling into the back of her hand. “Well, people’re gonna start thinking you’re a good Unchained boy with the way you dress combined with the sexy choker, y’know-”  
  
“Yang! Don’t call it sexy! It’s not sexy, it’s wholesome!” Ruby angrily shouted, punching Yang on the shoulder with an adorable little growl. Above her head, the blondes of the group shared an amused look, enjoying the small girl’s petulance.  
  
Hjøphiël grimaced, still forlornly looking upon the woollen bacon strip wrapped around his neck. “...I’d say that it doesn’t matter since this scarf will be covering it up, but wearing it makes me want to-”  
  
Ruby’s gaze snapped back to settle on him with an angry little growl, practically daring him to wish for death in her presence again.  
  
“-Suffer in endless torment.”  
  
“ _That’s not better than what you said before you big dumb-_ ”  
  
“Aren’t you suffering endless torment just wearing it?” Trent asked kindly, not helping in the least.  
  
Samael cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re so displeased about what you’re wearing, I know this wonderful clothing shop in Vale, Argent Grace—”  
  
“Ah I know Argent Grace I’ve been shopping there for ages now the girls running it are so nice and helpful it’s so nice to see the Unchained Church is helping disadvantaged people in the city are you going there can I come too I need to buy new laces for my boots anyways and I need to have a little rip in my cloak mended too and can I come too can I come too!?” Ruby rushed forward, standing on the tips of her toes as she bounced before Samael, her silvery eyes practically sparkling as she clasped her hands in front of her chest as if to beg.  
  
Samael, predictably, melted in the face of this display instantaneously, replying, “Of course, as long as Hjøë doesn’t mind?” He glanced at his partner, not really expecting the Atlesian to say no either.  
  
“I was shopping at a Goth religious goodwill store, why the fuck didn’t the ‘grace’ in the name tip me off…” Hjøphiël just muttered to himself in horror as he clutched his hair, eyes wide and bulging.  
  
Samael turned back to Ruby. “We’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Needed to go to Vale this weekend anyway...”  
  
“Yay, yay! Shopping trip to Argent Grace! We can even get a bucket of chicken across the street afterwards!” Ruby declared while excitedly jumping in place, though she abruptly stopped as her own eyes widened in abject, muted terror. “After school. _After_ school. _Only after school_. Never again, I’m sorry miss Goodwitch, I didn’t mean to skip classes, I was just trying to help Ichabod…”  
  
Ichabod winced and scratched at the back of his head after being reminded of how the stern-faced professor verbally ripped Ruby a new one while he got off _relatively_ scot-free, given he _couldn't_ really take the class without a weapon.  
  
Smiling idly at the byplay, Yang chuckled lightly before turning to Trent with a small grin on her face, reaching out and lightly punching him on the shoulder. “What about you, short stack? Got any plans for the weekend?”  
  
“Personally, I plan on shaking Ren down for help with improving my fighting style. Every little bit helps, as you know,” the blond replied, showing his hands in surrender.  
  
“Well, how do you feel about taking your little duel and making it a threesome?” Yang asked as she leaned over, her grin practically turning feral as she seemed to challenge Trent to take her up on her offer.  
  
Trent smiled in return, a pleasant, serene expression. “My, Yang, all you needed to do was ask. I’m always down for a menage a trois.”  
  
“Then you boys better prepare that Trentushie for a good _pounding_ , my boy,” Yang noted as she made an upward punching motion at him, baring her teeth like a manic wolf all the while. “After all, I like to play _rough_.”  
  
The blond chuckled and shook his head, amusement dripping off his every word as his body quaked and he replied, “Oh Yang, you should consider yourself lucky. Most women have to pay for such a service.”  
  
“Oh boy, two for the price of _none_!” Yang pumped her fist in victory. “ _Score one for Xiao Long!_ I win! _My win!_ ” she just started chortling and tapping her fingers together in apparent anticipation at the suggestive comments.  
  
“Please miss Goodwitch, I promise I’ll never do it again, don’t make me turn off my Aura, I’ll be a good girl, I promise…” Ruby had started to lightly tremble, drawing into herself as her eyes began to sparkle with unshed moisture buildup.  
  
“Ruby?!” Samael squawked, alarmed at what appeared to be a panic attack. “Ruby, snap out of it; the Professor isn’t here right now!”  
  
Ichabod finally saw fit to hop back into the conversation by sighing and putting a hand on top of the girl's head.  
  
"It's fine, chica. It's fine." He said in an attempt to console her, if a bit dryly, patting her head as he did. "You're the bestest. It was all on me. I'm sorry. You're fine."  
  
There was a long silence, then a loud growl emerged from the little ravenette - her stomach protesting the lack of nutritional intake after the night’s fast. “Oh no! We forgot all about breakfast!” She immediately switched gears into an open, childish panic, her previous trauma entirely forgotten as her gaze snapped about the hallway to see that it was now entirely empty save for the conversation’s participants. “We have to hurry to the Great Hall or we’ll miss it!”  
  
They missed breakfast.


	14. From Shadows

The day’s classes passed without much fanfare, afternoon arriving more quickly than it should have. Team HITS split off from one another, with Ichabod and Trent seeking out Team JNPR and Yang for some light training, while Samael and Hjøphiël were dragged along with Ruby to visit her favourite clothing store.  
  
…  
  
Well, _Hjøphiël_ was being dragged along, solely acquiescing due to a desire to cover up the fashion disaster currently wreathing his throat; Samael, on the other hand, was accompanying of his own free will.  
  
When the trio went to Beacon’s airfield to see about taking a Bullhead to Vale, they found that the only on-duty pilot had already taken another team into the city, and likely wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours.  
  
Luckily, Hjøphiël just so happened to have a pilot’s license, and so he just asked Ozpin for permission to take a transport ship to town. Ozpin immediately handed over a key to the Atlesian and wished the group a pleasant day without any further questioning or bothering to actually look into Hjøphiël’s assertions.  
  
Given the fact that they’d not crashed and burned upon landing in Vale, Hjøphiël was likely telling the truth.  
  
Soon enough, the trio reached the thrift store known as Argent Grace. It’s exterior was just as forbidding and tenebrous as the last time Samael had gone there, with walls that could have been hewn from an obsidian cliff and a fell crimson light emanating from within its gothic windows. The sole spots of light on the exterior of the building were the burnished silver letters proclaiming the shop’s name for all who dared approach to see.  
  
As ominous and nigh-malevolent as the exterior of the shop was, though, the interior was practically the inverse. Certainly, the same red, black, and silver colour scheme was ever-present, but underneath it all was a sense of warmth and belonging.  
  
In unison, a man and woman, clothed in much the same sort of clothing as Ruby, and even the same black hair with red tips, sang out from behind the counter, “Welcome to Argent Grace; may Saint Silver grant you succour!”  
  
“Was I actually so out of it that I didn’t notice this shit last time…?” Hjøphiël wondered, his dejection increasing tenfold after spending an entire day wearing the bacon’n’egg scarf he’d returned to Yang when classes were over.  
  
For Samael’s part gave a genial nod and smile, the woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, returning customers! And little Ruby; it’s been a while!”  
  
“Hello miss Argentfield are you having a nice day where’s Elizabeth is she on vacation you both really deserve one for how hard you work this is Samael and Hjøphiël I need new bootlaces and Hjøphiël wants a scarf and I think that red would work really good for him and I don’t know what Samael is here for but I’m just glad to be shopping with friends!” Ruby belted out one massive run-on-sentence by way of response, beaming as she slammed her hands on the countertop and propped herself up on it to greet the lady running the till.  
  
Completely undaunted by the biblical flood of words that had just poured from the little reaper’s mouth, Celestia Argentfield, replied sunnily, “I _am_ having a good day, and Elizabeth is working in the soup kitchen today. Every day’s a vacation when you do what you love, little Ruby.” She gave a cheerful wink, showing off her onyx eyeliner sprinkled with crimson glitter.  
  
She then turned to Samael and Hjøphiël and gave a sunny smile, even as the man behind the counter went into the back to retrieve Ruby’s bootlaces. “And welcome back, Sirs Samael and Hjøphiël. I do hope that your previous purchases were to your satisfaction.” Here, she shifted into a stage-whisper, saying, “Also, thank you for being Ruby’s friend. She sometimes has trouble with people, you know.”  
  
Ruby’s combat-boot-encased feet started to impotently stomp on the tiled floor as her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, her little brow furrowing as she attempted an extremely intimidating growl which just came out as adorable instead. “Miss Argentfield! Stop embarrassing me in front of the cool kids!”  
  
“Is there something wrong with me? Did that time I closed the cockpit hatch on my head cause lasting damage?” Hjøphiël quietly wondered to himself, hand set on his head as he couldn’t believe how he’d failed to notice the nature of this store previously.  
  
Samael let out a bark of laughter. “If I’m one of the ‘cool kids’ that’s news to me, Ruby.” He then nodded to the shopkeep. “And yes, my inner coat has done a good job keeping my outer one from chafing.”  
  
Celestia patted Ruby on the head, only causing her to make a muffled _mhrgl_ noise as her pout intensified. “I’m glad to hear it! Please, just let me know if there’s anything else I can find for you.” She then turned to Hjøphiël. “And you, Sir Hjøphiël? A red scarf, was it?”  
  
“I think a cape would be a lot more cool though and appropriate since he’s got long hair like Saint Silver and Saint Silver had a really cool cape like Uncle Qrow and I think a cape would work really well for him!”  
  
“Just a scarf, yes,” Hjøphiël weakly declared with a full-body slump even as Ruby shifted her pout to him for blatantly ignoring her opinion.  
  
“Well,” the chipper shopkeep replied, “we have a number of mufflers, collars, and scarves available; all in the colours of Saint Silver, of course.” She grinned. “Lucky for you, red _is_ one of those colours.” She waved the Atlesian over to one side of the store, while Ruby returned to the counter to pester the other cashier.  
  
For his part, Samael absently browsed the store, briefly considering acquiring a third trenchcoat, this one an armoured piece made of lightweight titanium scales and chain, before putting it back on the rack. There’d be other opportunities to expand his wardrobe, and he didn’t quite have enough lien to spare at the moment.  
  
When the shopkeep informed him that he could put it on layaway, though, he couldn’t open his wallet fast enough.  
  
\---  
  
In the training rings set aside for afterschool use, Trent was currently holding a hand up, backing away from Yang as he clutched his stinging nose. “Damn it, woman, give me a moment! I was expecting to go through forms with Ren initially, not eat your fist as soon as we started.”  
  
“But we’re sparring! We even discussed doing it this morning!” the blonde complained, planting her hands on her hips as she frowned at the man. “You should have been ready for anything!”  
  
Trent looked to Ichabod and Ren, searching for some kind of help in this catastrophe. Much to his misfortune, Ren merely shuffled a bit under his gaze, while his teammate instead gave him a wide shit-eating grin he knew meant he wasn't going to do jack fuck to save him.  
  
"She's got a point. You should be a man and stick to your word, amigo." The sombrero-clad fuckboi said and gave him a thumb's up. "Do fight yeah, my dude."  
  
“Ichabod, the fact that you would repay me with such a gross slight shall be remembered, and you shall pay,” the blond declared solemnly as he stood up straight, getting into an approximation of a fighting stance.  
  
Yang let out a laugh and surged forward, leading off with a flurry of jabs. “Now we’re talking!”  
  
The punches went high as Trent activated his Semblance, his auto-adjusting belt cinching tight and keeping his pants on.  
  
Angling her attacks downward, the huntress-in-training made a sound between a laugh and a growl.  
  
Absorbing a few of the blows, the shorter of the two replied with a haymaker of his own, stepping into her guard and expanding back to his full height.  
  
Taking a bracing step back from the gut punch, Yang grinned and slammed her forearms down on his back, sending him chin first into her knee.  
  
Rolling off her leg and shrinking, Trent twisted around and entangled himself in her legs.  
  
Shaking and trying to get the smaller blond out of her legs, Yang grumbled, “Now I’m flashing back to Rubes’s difficult phase…”  
  
Ignoring her attempts to dislodge him, Trent locked his hands around her ankle and regrew, shooting upwards and yanking the huntress-in-training off her feet.  
  
Heaving her around, he threw the blonde at his traitorous partner. Said partner had crossed his arms and watched the fight with interest and did not expect the sudden onset of Yang on his face. The impact was so strong his headwear came loose. As the two were thrown sprawling across the floor, his sombrero floated down to land with a plop on top of his face.  
  
"'Aight, that's fair but fuck you." Ichabod declared as he weakly raised an arm and flipped Trent the bird, his voice muffled by the oversized accessory.  
  
Having stepped out of the way, Ren just looked down at the heap and shook his head, silently wondering if he’d made a horrible mistake by joining them.  
  
Rather than count herself out, Yang sprang to her feet and let out a bark of laughter. “So, we’re counting Ichy in too, eh? Sounds like fun!” And with that, she grabbed the Vacuan’s upraised arm and used it to lever him at Trent.  
  
As he was slung towards his friend, Ichabod laughed loudly and grabbed the shield on his back.  
  
"Fine by me!" Ichabod roared as he slammed the defensive implement offensively into the space Trent previously occupied.  
  
Having not been standing still, the blond had instead shrunk down and slid under the airborne Vacuan, crossing his arms in front of his head as he jumped up and drove himself into Yang’s midsection.  
  
Rather than falling for it, she’d dodged to the side and slammed a fist into his ribs, diving towards Ichabod. “Get over here, Ichy!”  
  
The poncho-clad man replied by drawing his Macuhitl and turning on the saw of his shield. He assumed a foetal position while on top of its flat side before priming the wind Dust crystal on the other side.  
  
He cackled loudly as a verdant gust of wind threw him forward and he rode the implement towards Yang like a cat atop a deadly, flying Roomba while waving the clublike weapon in the air. Blades of wind ripped into the ground, carving grooves into the floor where Ichabod passed.  
  
Dodging out of the way, the blonde shook her head and growled, “If that’s how it’s gonna b-” She stopped as she saw a single strand of cut golden hair drifting from where she’d dodged.  
  
Flames licked up her shoulders and through the rest of her hair, her normally purple eyes consumed by an infernal crimson glow. “ _No one touches my hair._ ” Ember Celica whined as she dove after the cackling Vacuan, her punches sending bullets pockmarking a trail behind him.  
  
Rather than let this sudden change in demeanour kill his partner, Trent leaped into Yang, driving his shoulder into her spine and drawing her attention. Catching a backhand to the face, he was then caught a few blasts from her gauntlets to the abdomen, sending him flying back.  
  
Before the bullets could impact, Ichabod primed the Dust again, lifting him further up and turning the shield upwards before kicking off it and slotting his macuahuitl into it in the same motion. As he shot towards the two, he expanded the hilt all the way and swept at the two's knees from a distance.  
  
Catching the blow to the back of the knees, Trent was flipped onto his back, and forced to somersault backwards onto his feet. With a muttered curse, he darted forward, using Ichabod’s advance to hide his own.  
  
Yang let out a shriek and a wave of force roiled off her body, searing the ground around her as she sprinted towards her Vacuan foe, her arms chambered and ready to swing.  
  
At that moment, Ichabod smiled wildly and he retracted the weapon's hilt and primed the green crystal again midway through, blasting Yang head-on with a gust of wind before she could get to him and allowing the force to carry him away to make distance from her.  
  
Dodging around Ichabod’s thrown body, Trent dashed across the distance and slammed his fist into Yang’s chin, catching her with a devastating uppercut while she was recovering from the windblast.  
  
Staggering back to her full height, the blonde let out a shrill noise as she went to close with Trent, only for the two of them to catch a pair of feet to their temples, sending them crashing to the ground, their Aura spent.  
  
Landing gracefully in the middle point between them, Lie Ren let out a sigh, “Honestly, you guys are almost as rambunctious as Nora…”  
  
Ichabod looked back at the scene, then back to his weapon and he sighed, drove his weapon all the way into his shield, and set it on the hook at the back of his belt.  
  
"So...if _you_ lost," The Vacuan said as he pointed towards Trent, then towards Yang. "And _you_ lost, does that mean that you _both_ lost the bet? How does that even work?"  
  
“Yes, we both lost,” Trent agreed from the ground, allowing himself to just lay there. “I’ve no idea as to how we’re going to make the bet work.”  
  
Splayed out on her back, Yang just let out a disturbing growling sound.  
  
“Just so long as it keeps Nora from eating it,” Ren remarked, his eyes scanning the devastation they’d unleashed upon the training room. “So, I’m not telling Professor Goodwitch who did all this damage.”  
  
“Ditto!” Yang and Trent cried in unison, their fingers popping to their noses in a synchronized move.  
  
\---  
  
After leaving Argent Grace, Samael split off from Ruby and Hjøë to address his other business. Or, rather, he tried to, but immediately crumbled in the face of the girl’s puppy-dog eyes. Hjøë, for his part, decided to wait for the two at ‘Mrs. Popouts Breasts and Thighs’, the chicken joint across the street.  
  
Samael’s first stop was at a convenience store, where he picked up some instant noodles, water bottles, and a bottle of multivitamins. Ruby was clearly curious as to why he was buying a bunch of cheap food, but Samael just told her that she’d see when they got to his destination.  
  
His second stop was at a quaint little used book store called Tukson’s Book Trade. Ruby immediately ran off to look at the “Fairy Tales and Firearms” section, while Samael marched over to a wall of textbooks and picked one off the shelf. The coat-clad Faunus gave a nod to the shopkeep, a sideburned Faunus named Tukson with burly biceps and a friendly attitude.  
  
As Samael paid the man, he thought he felt eyes on him, but when he scanned the shop behind him, there was nobody but Ruby, immersed in a book called “The Big Bad Wolf and Granny Hatchet: A Huntress Tale”.  
  
Samael shrugged, paid for Ruby’s book as well (ignoring her stammered protests), and walked out of the store. It was probably just his imagination.  
  
All the while, unaware that he was being stalked.  
  
\---  
  
Silently finding a pathway up to the rooftops of Vale, gracefully running near-vertically atop a series of uneven brickwork and metallic adornments, Blake perched on the corner of a building just down the street from the book store, having witnessed the unsettling figure of Samael Obsidian leading her gullible and naive team leader into a suspicious store, emerging with what were plainly drugs.  
  
Narrowing her eyes, Blake grimaced and her hand drifted over Gambol Shroud, her weapon. Ordinarily, she’d never consider drawing it on a person after she left her old life, but this man - he was _obviously_ a White Fang agent. First, he just… calmly accepted Weiss Schnee’s racism, and shortly afterwards she suffered a genuinely disgusting humiliation at his hands, ‘accidentally’, of course. Not to mention how his mannerisms and way of speaking reminded her of Fennec and Corsac Albain, those two overly religious creeps that preached that twisted version of the Unchained Testament that Adam had fallen for so easily.  
  
On top of that, Schnee had mentioned how he and his blond companion had attempted to ‘ambush’ her after Dustcasting class - a fact that was backed up by pretty much the entire class at that.  
  
Now, here he was, collecting drugs from a suspicious store, and leading her team leader into the _bad_ part of town - Blake keenly recognized a slum when she saw one and knew they were invariably the most dangerous part of a city to enter. Guardsmen, never mind police, would be few and far between, and people went missing all the time in these sorts of places… the perfect location to hurt someone a Schnee was close to without being caught.  
  
Just the sort of plan Adam would have come up with.  
  
Her nearly fluorescent yellow eyes narrowed, lips setting into a thin grimace from where she sat perched, watching the pair near the parts of town dangerous for a human at the best of times. Part of her wanted to jump down, rush in and get Ruby out of there right now, cut down the creep that was _obviously_ tracking _her_ while she was at it, but-  
  
A beat.  
  
No, that would be too… dangerous. Yes, definitely. Approaching the two would not put just herself, but Ruby in danger too. He was a White Fang agent, which meant he would be trained to fight and hurt people, just like Blake herself was. She couldn’t risk it. She’d have to simply follow them, be prepared to throw Gambol Shroud and use its cord to hang Obsidian from a lamppost if need be - always better to strike from the shadows when it was unexpected. Even Adam understood the merits of that.  
  
So, she slinked along after them, remaining high off the streets, never letting the two out of her sight as she leapt from lamppost to lamppost and speedily zipped across shielded electrical beams connecting some buildings together that were too far apart to make the jump.  
  
Every word out of his mouth was just further evidence of his allegiance to the protestors-turned-terrorists: the same rhetoric and flowery, cult-like dialogue that practically haunted her dreams at this point continued spewing from his mouth like a broken faucet, and Ruby, the damn naive girl that she was ate it all up with the same glimmer in her eyes that Adam had when he’d first heard it himself.  
  
As much as the thought of confronting the White Fang again fright- _emboldened_ her, she needed to remind herself of how much danger Ruby was in right now, and so stayed her hand for that singular and definite reason. The right time would come, and when it did, _then_ she would strike.  
  
\---  
  
Samael stopped in front of a dilapidated, one-story shack and fiddled with the door latch, then turned to regard Ruby. “Sorry about the state of the place; Ma and I aren’t exactly well off.” He rubbed the back of his head embarrassedly.  
  
“Oh,” Ruby started by way of reply, her brow falling as a small frown found purchase on her face. “Um… well, that’s alright, you gotta work with what you’ve got, right?” she attempted to sound encouraging, presenting a strained smile to Samael. “You guys must deal with the church pretty often then, right? I mean, they do everything they can to help people in need, after all.”  
  
Samael gave a sad smile as he opened the rickety wooden door. “The soup kitchens helped, from time to time,” he allowed, “but often as not Ma had to go hungry so I could eat.”  
  
Samael failed to notice a dark figure perched on a tree cringe intensely as they nearly fell to the ground below them.  
  
Ruby already looked ready to cry, so Samael decided to change the subject, calling out into the shack, “Ma, I’m home, and I brought company!”  
  
A soft but powerful voice called back, “Well don’t jus’ stand out on the porch; come in, come in! I just made a pitcher of your favourite iced tea, and I even found some sugar this time!”  
  
Samael’s tongue darted out to wet his lips in anticipation, then he glanced back at Ruby, who was still in a state of near-catatonic heartbreak. “Come in, come in,” he said, crossing the threshold and waving her forward. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”  
  
The interior of the shack was just as bare and dilapidated as the exterior, with just two rooms connected by an open doorway. There was a big mattress in the middle of the floor, with a couple of plastic chairs on either side. Rather than a holoscreen, there was a pre-war analog radio sitting on a stool by the wall, a dull hum of static filling the room.  
  
Through the open door, a cramped kitchen could be seen, with a number of large coolers sitting on the ground in place of a refrigerator or freezer, and rather than a stove, there was a fire pit, with a long metal chimney dangling above it.  
  
Past that, a sheet hung vertically over another part of the kitchen area, separating the laundry area and bathroom from the cooking area and maintaining a bit of privacy.  
  
As Ruby looked around the house, her eyes clouded and uncertain, Samael went into the kitchen. He wrapped his long, lanky arms around his mother, a short, rail-thin waif of a human with wispy brown hair and bright green eyes.  
  
“Hey, ma.” He murmured into her hair, the mama’s boy holding tight to the first (and for the longest time, the only) person to ever give a damn about him.  
  
“Hey, Sammy.” Gabrielle Ivory said, putting the pitcher to one side as she returned the hug.  
  
For a while, they just stood there, hugging, but after about a minute, Samael pulled away and coughed into a fist, before reaching into his coat and retrieving an Ice Dust crystal. “So. I’m gonna just…refill the coolers; meanwhile, maybe give Ruby some tea, then we can continue your reading lessons?”  
  
Gabrielle grimaced at the prospects of more lessons, then nodded and gave a sly smile. “Ruby, huh?”  
  
Samael felt his stomach drop into his toes. “Ma, no.”  
  
The woman merely chuckled as she left the room.  
  
 _“Ma please.”_  
  
His pleas fell on deaf ears, as his mother merely laughed.  
  
\---  
  
“Well aren’t you just the cutest thing!” Gabrielle declared loudly, gently cupping Ruby’s cheek as she studied the girl. “So how’d you get to know my Sammy?”  
  
Samael stared at the scene before him, but his eyes were glazed and his vision was a thousand yards away. He knew the worst was yet to come, and as such was bracing himself for the inevitable horror.  
  
“I um I met him when we were on the Bullhead to Beacon and he was standing at the bow of the ship looking over the nearing academy and he looked really cool like a Huntsman from the stories gazing out to meet the stare of his encroaching destiny like from the books and it got me super excited and wondering what sort of weapon he might have since Huntsmen always have a crazy super cool weapon they made themselves and Yang was being weird about trying to leer at boys but I thought Samael would be more interesting to talk to and thought we could maybe be friends,” the little ravenette declared, looking about as uncomfortable as Samael had ever seen her, clearly unsure of how to precisely handle being faced with legitimate poverty.  
  
Gabrielle laughed and shook her head, sending her hair bobbing. “And then you found out how much of a softy he actually is, eh?”  
  
“Ma, _why_?” Samael moaned into his hands.  
  
His mother turned to him and shook a finger. “Now Sammy, you had to know that when you brought a girl home to meet me that I’d give you the business; it’s my job as your ma!”  
  
Samael’s head shot out of his hands. “Ma, it’s not like that! She’s _fifteen_!”  
  
“So was your aunt Layla when she shacked up with that Amon man, and no one said anything about that,” the brunette shot back, smiling at her son. “Besides, you’re _seventeen_ , Sammy, and a huntsman-in-training besides. It’s perfectly natural for kids your age to canoodle! You’re practically adults!”  
  
Samael let out a wordless moan, like a balloon filled with the despairing souls of a thousand high-school teachers slowly deflating. His head sank back into his hands, slowly, carefully, like a pillow being lowered onto the face of one’s worst enemy.  
  
Ruby, meanwhile, “YEAH YEAH IT’S LIKE I’M ALWAYS TELLING DAD, I’M TOTALLY A GROWN-UP AND COULD KICK A DOZEN BEOWULF'S BUTTS LIKE NOTHING, I CAN PROVE IT WANNA SEE ME PROVE IT I’M A LOT STRONGER THAN I LOOK BECAUSE I DRINK _MILK_! _”_ The littlest battle nun proudly declared with her hands set upon her hips, grinning widely as she heard nothing but the assertion that she and Samael were allegedly adults.  
  
“Oh, you really are just the sweetest thing,” Gabrielle cooed, pulling the girl into a hug. “We’re keeping you, sweetie!”  
  
Samael let out what could be charitably described as a death rattle in reply.  
  
\---  
  
From her treetop perch outside the ramshackle house which wouldn’t have been out of place in Kuo Kuana’s favelas, Blake grimaced as she heard the jubilations coming from the open window and lightly wrung her hands together.  
  
“Wow, do I ever feel like an asshole,” she all but breathed to herself as she continued to sit and take in the otherwise beautiful sight of a happy, if small yet mercifully intact family enjoying what little they had together, the child teaching the mother to read in a familiar, if inverted sight. “Guess they’re not so different from us after all, huh, mom?”  
  
It was amazing how quickly virulent hostility made way for envy.


	15. Winner Winner...

The following day, the sun rose and shined bright on Beacon Academy. Birds were chirping, dogs were barking, and in the great hall of the academy during breakfast, Ruby was screeching.  
  
“ _Yang, do weird cutesy couple stuff with your new boyfriend after school! You’re embarrassing me, Saint’s Blessings- stop, please, this isn’t funny I hate it stooooop!”_ the little ravenette cried as she pulled the hood of her crimson cloak over her head and drew the string hard enough that she was shouting through a little quarter-sized opening in despair, a futile attempt to hide from the horrifically embarrassing cringe before her.  
  
Her lamentations did not go unnoticed by the other students in the Great Hall, who’d continued to give Team HITS a wide berth, but had also been side-eyeing them now that both Team RWBY and Team JNPR were sitting with them.  
  
" _What are you talking about? This is perfect._ " Ichabod said with a cackle that definitely got more than a few stares as he tried and failed to hold back his amusement, having all but slammed his head against the table right next to his plate of pancakes and eggs and hitting the furniture with his fist after catching sight of the two losers of the bet.  
  
“You know, Trent,” Samael added conversationally, sipping from a small cup of ice water “when you said that you’d be doing some light sparring, I didn’t think it would end in cringey couple shit.” He raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Congratulations; you’ve managed to outdo even my expectations.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re all complaining about,” Yang declared as she turned in her seat to grin at Trent, “I personally think that sausage and _hams_ are a great addition to a balanced breakfast,” she asserted while waggling her eyebrows at him, nudging the bespectacled fellow with her elbow.  
  
Cutting into his breakfast with grace and elegance that ill-befit the situation, the blond just smiled as he shook his head. “And aren’t you just the little oinker, my dear.”  
  
“Had I known this was what was going to be done with the horrible bacon and eggs scarf, I’d have never given it back,” Hjøphiël intoned from across the table, staring at the two blondes that were lashed together by the gaudy scarf wrapped around both of their necks at once, a particular dead fish look in his eyes, his food going entirely untouched.  
  
“I kind of wish you hadn’t given it back too…” Blake said, her appetite stifled, though not entirely ruined by the sight as she slowly nibbled on a piece of toast.  
  
Weiss was sitting somewhat apart from the rest of the group, though still within talking distance, not that she had anything to say with Team HITS present - she was in fact rather pointedly pretending that she couldn’t see any of them as she ate her eggs benedict all prim and proper like.  
  
“ _I’ll gladly take it off your hands-”_  
  
“Nora, no,” Ren declared in a defeated tone as he reached out and grabbed the ginger-haired girl by the scruff of her collar, preventing her from reaching out and grabbing at the bacon-and-eggs scarf, her mouth-watering as she started to whine.  
  
This wasn’t the outcome he was expecting when he went for a double-K.O. Though he supposed that it was only right that he’d face such swift punishment for his hubris, wasn’t it?  
  
“Nora, I’m sorry, but that scarf is not food,” Pyrrha Nikos asserted as she turned in her seat and reached over to help Ren restrain her, bright red ponytail cascading over her shoulder with the motion. “You will just find yourself with an upset stomach should you attempt to eat it.”  
  
“ _Foolish mortals,_ ” Nora growled as she clawed at the scarf impotently, her turquoise eyes glimmering in naked hunger and need. “ _I am Nora of the Iron Stomach, there is nothing I cannot consume!_ ”  
  
"Man, that's such a cool title...I want one" Ichabod mused quietly as he lifted his head to look at the girl as she struggled against those who would hold back her reins. "What would it even _be_ though…?"  
  
Pyrrha grimaced, her Mistralian features flushing in embarrassment as she shot an apologetic look towards Blake and Hjøphiël. “Sorry!” She apologized, again.  
  
“Nora, if you’re going to try and eat the scarf, please do it when Yang and I _aren’t_ wearing it,” Trent remarked, his eyes drifting shut as he continued to eat his food with as much grace as he could muster.  
  
“Heh, get a load of these, uh, barberians, zero shame whatsoever, unlike _us_ cool kids that know how to act all smooth and chill and _frosty_ , isn’t that right, my lovely little snow angel?” Jaune declared as he leaned on the table across from the Schnee scion, grinning widely as he seemed entirely too pleased with the way he’d mangled the word ‘barbarians.’  
  
Weiss just made a valiant attempt to ignore the cringelord attempting to curry her favour in the most brain cell-killing manner possible.  
  
Pyrrha, meanwhile, frowned slightly at the byplay before refocusing on preventing Nora from attempting to consume a length of knitted wool.  
  
Turning to stare at the taller blond, Trent declared, “Jaune, if you’re going to actually try and hit on a young lady, I’d suggest you work on your compliment game beyond piss poor puns and incorrectly pronounced words.”  
  
Samael for his part merely glanced over at the goober and the ice princess then took a long, loud sip of his water before reaching into his coat and producing the apology card. He looked to Ruby, who was still entombed in her hood and making distressed noises.  
  
“Hey, uh...Ruby?” Samael awkwardly tried to get the despairing reaper’s attention.  
  
“ _Mrgffglfgln,_ ” Ruby whined from within her tightly constricted hood, pulling on the drawstrings as if her life depended on it, eventually letting the slightest amount of slack go on the strings so a single silver eye could glean out the tiny little viewing hole she’d allowed upon turning to face him. “What?” she asked in a tiny, strained voice.  
  
Samael decided to take that as a signal to continue, and said, “Sorry if this is, uh, a bad time, but…” He slid the card across the table to her. “If you could give this apology card to Weiss at some point, I’d...I’d appreciate it.”  
  
“Oh, okay,” Ruby declared as she released the strings of her hood, grabbed the card, and promptly stood to lean across the table and present it to the silver-haired teammate who was still calmly eating her meal. “Weiss! Samael asked me to give this to you!” she declared cheerfully, a wide smile on her face.  
  
Samael promptly slammed his face into the table, fedora drifting off his head and landing on the floor.  
  
Weiss had gone still, staring at her food wordlessly for a few moments, fork held in her mouth before she slowly shifted her gaze to fall upon her team leader, staring, unblinking, expressionless, _judging_.  
  
“...Smooth move, Rubes,” Yang declared with a cringe, practically hissing the words through her clenched teeth as everyone else looked on in horror.  
  
“...Yikes, Ruby,” Jaune grimaced off to the side, looking like he wanted to die.  
  
Trent, meanwhile, had stopped, his utensils hovering over his food as he took a deep breath in through his nose, his smile having taken on a pained edge. “Truly, this morning is looking to be a veritable trainwreck.”  
  
Though muffled by the table, Samael’s reply was still parseable. “Trainwreck? More like a Dust reactor meltdown, if you ask me.”  
  
“Wha-” Ruby opened and blinked her eyes, looking all around the table and the gathered occupants, only recognizing the stares she was receiving as being negative after a few moments, in which she let out a tiny sound of distress, practically folding in on herself as her features fell and she turned beet red at the attention and her own mistake. She mumbled something too quietly to hear and stared at her long-since cleaned plate in silence.  
  
“...Sorry,” Pyrrha said to the little ravenette, seemingly feeling some measure of guilt, for some reason.  
  
Weiss just continued to stare at Ruby for a few moments before she returned to silently eat her breakfast, though far more mechanically now.  
  
Blake, meanwhile, reached over and started to lightly pat Ruby’s head comfortingly, more than a little naked concern present on her normally stoic and even mysterious features.  
  
“Thanks, Kali…” Ruby managed in a borderline inaudible whisper.  
  
“...Well, at least nobody’s staring at the scarf anymore!” Yang cheerfully declared, nudging Trent in the side.  
  
At which point everyone redirected their attention back to the blondes and their awful couple scarf.  
  
“Aw, nuts,” Yang realized her mistake too late.  
  
With all the concern having left his body with the entirety of the Grand Hall staring at them, Trent scootched around to look at the blonde, his expression dead. “Yang, in any other situation, I would congratulate you. But you earned this fate.”  
  
“How rude!” Yang declared, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just as expected of the old ball and chain, weighing me down and cramping my style.”  
  
“I thought that was the scarf,” the bespectacled blond remarked, once more returning to his food.  
  
“The scarf is _art_ , you’re in desperate need of a good tanning to add some colour to that paste you call skin!” Yang asserted with a huff.  
  
Trent just nodded, keeping on eating. “Yes, yes, whatever you say, dear.”  
  
“Nora, look, pancakes,” Ren declared off to the side, which immediately caused the ginger-haired ball of Nordic fury to redirect her attention onto the plate he’d presented, causing him to grimace rather pointedly. “I don’t know why I didn’t do that earlier…”  
  
“I suppose that really should have been an obvious solution-” Pyrrha agreed, to which Ren gave her a baleful look. “-Sorry!”  
  
“You seem rather fond of that word,” Hjøphiël observed as he adjusted his understated (at least in comparison to the bacon-and-eggs) scarf, popping a brow at the bronze-plated redhead.  
  
“Oh, I’m-” Pyrrha visibly caught herself, then had to visibly hold her tongue about a dozen times in a row as she looked increasingly distressed with each passing moment she stared at the Atlesian.  
  
“...Sorry?” Hjøphiël finished for her.  
  
“Oh no, it’s quite alright, you didn’t do anything!” Pyrrha asserted as she completely misunderstood, clasping her hands together apologetically before the Atlesian. “I’m sorry for making you- gck-!” She caught herself far too late.  
  
Hjøphiël just made a face which indicated that he didn’t know what sort of face he should be making at that moment, communicating little other than an incredible strain on the brunet’s part. “Sitting at this table is suffering.”  
  
Pyrrha’s lips practically began to tremble as she made every effort to hold her tongue.  
  
“Jeez,” Hjøphiël shrunk back in his seat, feeling increasingly like a total heel. “You don’t gotta make it look like you’re about to cry from trying to not apologize.”  
  
“Ah, I’m sor-” Pyrrha damn near bit the tip off her tongue that time as she clamped her hands over her mouth, face turning the same shade as her hair.  
  
“S-sorry…” Hjøphiël grimaced, cringing back as he suddenly felt incredibly guilty for embarrassing a seemingly nice girl… which provoked a further guilt-ridden response from the redhead.  
  
" _Jesus Christ, it's just a feedback loop of apologies._ " Ichabod murmured as he looked upon the ex-Canadian and the Mistralian just repeating the words like a massive pair of fools. After a second and more apologies were thrown, he got an idea. "Hey guys!" he said as he clapped his hands once as he looked at the pair.  
  
All eyes shifted to settle on Ichabod at once. Once he soaked in on the silence for a couple of seconds he smiled and nodded as he crossed his arms in front of him, satisfied despite having absolutely no followup.  
  
"My work here is done." He proclaimed proudly, the distraction working out to snap them out of it.  
  
“...But you didn’t do anything,” Jaune observed in plain confusion, an elbow planted on the table as he scratched the top of his head in a befuddled manner with the opposite hand.  
  
" _Farewell._ " The Vacuan man declared as he grabbed the hem of his poncho and threw it over his shoulder like a cape while grabbing his plate with the other hand and walked away like a magnificent peacock taking flight. He was definitely unaffected by the many, _many_ looks he got from everyone not just at the table, but also the rest of the room. Completely unphased. He most certainly did not care in the slightest. Nope. Not a bit.  
  
Several moments passed in awkward silence, everyone just staring at the inexplicably departing Vacuan.  
  
“...So,” Hjøphiël started, if only to break the sudden onset of awkward silence. “The girls at this chicken place made me promise to go back there today and bring a group with me-”  
  
“I love fried chicken!” Yang and Nora both practically shrieked in perfect unison. “When’re we going?”  
  
Samael peeled his face off of the table and replied, “I probably won’t order anything, but I don’t have anything better to do.”  
  
Blake paused patting Ruby’s head for a moment to shoot a long, intense stare at Samael, a look that almost seemed harsh at a glance, but was, on her part, rather more concerned than anything, though she chose to not press the issue and assumed he was being melodramatic for the sake of it and would actually eat later.  
  
“I’m damn well in,” Trent declared, his stomach already preparing itself for him to gorge himself on chicken.  
  
“Fair warning,” Hjøphiël raised a finger to speak. “The place is kind of a-”  
  
 _“WINNER WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER!_ ” Nora chanted over him like a kid in a candy shop, marching in place with a wide, shit-eating grin, no fucks given about all the attention she was getting from the literal rest of the student body.  
  
At that, Hjøphiël just shrugged. He at least tried to warn them.  
  
\---  
  
“...Seriously?” Blake asked eyes narrowed heavily at Hjøphiël as the group stood on the street between Argent Grace and Mrs. Popout’s Breasts and Thighs, a flawless porcelain statue of the joint’s mascot on prominent display in the front of the restaurant; a chicken Faunus girl with a debasedly voluptuous figure and a trashy outfit consisting of red cutoff denim shorts with white nylon thigh-highs and a tightly-fitted sleeveless undershirt accentuated by a very tight red vest which emphasized her chest and thighs significantly, popped up on one leg, winking at any and all passersby with a finger cutely thrust into the sky above. _“Seriously!?_ ” the yellow-eyed ravenette pressed, her features about one step away from being a full-on snarl.  
  
“Dang, that gal _bumpin’,_ ” Yang declared with a whistle as she shamelessly leered at the statue. “Boy, I hope that’s what all the servers look like in there!”  
  
“Yang!” Blake stomped at the blonde, nose wrinkled with intense distaste and outrage.  
  
“On one hand, I’m not going to disagree with her assessment of the mascot,” Trent remarked, looking up at the building, shifting uneasily. “On the other hand, if this _isn’t_ exploitation, I don’t know what is.”  
  
“Of _course_ this is exploitation! Look at this insulting thing! They even made the statue look as stereotypical as possible with those unrealistically shaped tail feathers, that unrealistic figure, and the red strip of hair framed by white! Real poultry Faunus don’t look like that!”  
  
Hjøphiël just had a hand on his waist, eyes wide and shifting about nervously. The sudden firebrand was really setting herself up for a hard pie to the face...  
  
Ichabod, who had been informed of the plan to go out to the joint and had never been to the street muttered in surprise and looked away from the store as he raised a hand to his chin.  
  
"...What's the equivalent term for blaxploitation for Faunus, even?" he questioned quietly, making a face of intense concentration as he tried to find the combination of words which sounded the punchiest and most accurate in his mind.  
  
“There isn’t one,” Samael replied, frowning at the establishment.  
  
“ _Seriously,_ what the fuck is wrong with you-” Blake thrust an accusatory finger out at Hjøphiël, then transitioned into a sidelong swipe at the orange-tinted blur that practically lunged at her. “get that thing out of my damned face!” She shouted at Nora, who rapidly backed off and withdrew the swear jar, surprised by the sudden vehemence of the ribbon-wearing girl. “What are you thinking, supporting a business that’s so obviously _racist!?_ ” she refocused on Hjøphiël, demanding answers from the Atlesian.  
  
“I’d assume it’s because he was hungry,” Weiss very dryly suggested off to the side, sounding incredibly bored with the situation.  
  
When Blake rounded on the silver-haired young lady, Ruby bounced in to place herself between the two, waving her arms in a panic. “Kali! Calm down! I’m sure it’s not that bad! It’s just a chicken place, what’s wrong with-”  
  
 _“_ What’s wrong with- _didn’t you just hear what I said!?_ ” Blake demanded, stomping her foot on the concrete sidewalk with a snarl before spinning to face Hjøphiël again. “Answer me, damn it!”  
  
Hjøphiël was more than a little taken aback, leaning as far in the opposite direction from the ravenette as he could without falling over, eyes practically popping out of their sockets. After a beat, he responded. “I was bored, hungry, and smelled chicken. I didn’t even notice the statue my first time here-”  
  
“What are you, gay?” Yang incredulously demanded as she looked about ready to start feeling the statue up.  
  
“Then why the hell would you come _back!?_ ” Blake pressed, ignoring Yang’s comment entirely.  
  
“Because Stacy figured out that I’m weak to crying girls and started crying to make me promise I’d come back with friends…” Hjøphiël admitted incredibly sheepishly, leaving out that the _rest of the fucking wait staff, all cute girls, did it at once to him too._  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Samael said with a deadpan expression.  
  
Trent nodded, his expression as flat as Weiss’s tone, as he added, “Completely unsurprising, all told.”  
  
When Blake looked ready to go off on them again, Jaune suddenly lurched towards the front door. “Why are we milling about out here when we could be getting served by gorgeous feathery honies inside!? Let’s gooooo-!” the blond fop declared as he bolted forth excitedly.  
  
Trent’s eyes just trailed over to Blake, and shook his head, deciding to leave the boy to his fate.  
  
“Oh you did _not_ just say something _that damned racist you little-!_ ” Blake started after him, grinding her teeth together as she went after him.  
  
Hjøphiël’s lips were drawn into a taut line, and he turned to face the rest of Team JNPR, the vibrant redhead, ginger-haired human black hole, and Ren all just staring at him with expressions ranging from deadpan, to apologetic to hangry.  
  
“ _Winner. Winner,_ ” Nora growled out in an unsettlingly feral manner. “ _CHICKEN. DINNER,_ ” seemingly irritated by the hold-up.  
  
“Sorry,” he managed to get out in a strained voice.  
  
“N-no, it’s alright! You’re not the one making a scene! I’m sor- gck!” Pyrrha choked on her breath again.  
  
And thus, the cycle continued. Ichabod sighed, unsure of whether or not he should actually snap them out of it a second time.  
  
Samael cleared his throat. “Let’s just go in before Nora starts gnawing the curb.”  
  
“Sorry,” Hjøphiël and Pyrrha both blurt out at Samael simultaneously, immediately looking as though they’d been struck at the same time.  
  
Strolling past them, Trent just shook his head as he headed towards Jaune’s doom, Yang practically prancing in excitement beside him. “You can apologize by buying me some food.”


	16. ...Chicken Dinner

“Howdy and sal-u-tations y’all! Welcome to Mrs. Popout’s, where the breasts are juicy, the thighs are extra thick, and sides’re finger-lickin’ good!” A peppy, bubbly chicken Faunus girl with a debasedly voluptuous figure and a trashy outfit consisting of red cutoff denim shorts with white nylon thigh-highs and a tightly-fitted sleeveless undershirt accentuated by a very tight red vest which emphasized her chest and thighs significantly, popped up on one leg, winked at the group with a wide smile; then, with a cute little blink, she focused squarely on… “Hjøëy! You precious lil’ nuggie, I knew y’all had the biggest ol’ heart in Remnant!”  
  
The chicken girl bound forth, grabbing Hjøphiël and forcefully drawing his face into her chest with a cheerful chirp.  
  
“You said you’d come back with friends, an’ you did! Bless your tender lil’ heart!” She declared, her snow-white hair contrasted by a side-swept natural crimson streak, not unlike a chicken’s crest swaying about mesmerizingly as she cooed and twisted about in place. “You unchained boys’re just the best!”  
  
“Hello, Stacy,” Hjøphiël intoned, face buried in her bountiful bosom as he made no attempt to resist, having already been previously broken by his experiences against the combined arms of the restaurant with no back-up.  
  
Blake, meanwhile, had the singularly most tortured expression on her face as she stared at the gorgeous girl whose figure and appearance she’d just described as ‘unrealistic,’ shrinking back and attempting to blend in with the bright yellow and red wallpaper of the establishment to little avail.  
  
Jaune bounced on the tips of his toes at the sight of all the gorgeous Faunus girls dressed in uniforms similar to Stacy’s, Yang having joined him in openly ogling them with a goofy grin on her features. Trent’s mouth had simply pulled into an amused line, though it was strained from the way that Yang was yanking on his neck through their shared scarf.  
  
Ichabod wiped his brow with his sleeve as sweat began to form across it. If he had any less self-control, he would have remarked on _all the egg_ on Blake's face at the moment, but as it stood and given the sensitivity of the topic outside of Vacuo, he chose not to make an ass out of himself by pointing it out.  
  
Samael, for his part, hid his discomfited grimace behind the now buckled collar of his trenchcoat, having acted quickly upon seeing the impending disaster. While yes, Blake _had_ pretty directly been handed her words back to her on top of a metaphorical pimp-slap, he had to admit that the place _did_ make him a bit...uncomfortable, to say the least.  
  
“Oh, but where _are_ my manners?” the dual-tone haired girl chirped as she bounced back on the balls of her feet, smiling beautifully at the group as Hjøphiël nearly wiped out face-first on the tiled floor, only recovering at the last moment. “I’m Stacy, the restaurant’s mascot as y’all can surely tell - and I’ll be yer server tonight! Are y’all just one big ol’ mess o’ people, or would y’all like separate tables?”  
  
“W-well-!” Jaune started in an excited, high-pitched tone before his eyes widened as he caught himself, focused his gaze on Hjøphiël for a moment, then straightened his back out as he put a deliberately forced unnatural gravel to his voice. “We would like a group table, please, miss.”  
  
Samael let out a full-body shudder and scratched viciously at his collarbone through his coats. “Jesus Christ, I think I’m actually allergic to his bullshit; I thought my moulting started early there for a second.”  
  
“ _Cease,_ ” Hjøphiël pleaded to Jaune without looking directly at him, wanting to die as the tallest blond attempted to mimic his voice and mannerisms in front of the pretty Faunus girls.  
  
At his side, Ichabod gave a quiet whine as he also felt his soul escape his body for the same reasons, though with far less intensity because it wasn't _him_ the blond was imitating.  
  
“Jaune, don’t try and force that voice, _everyone_ can see through it,” his fellow blond advised from beside Yang, who was now torn between cackling at Jaune and ogling Stacy.  
  
“I-I think it makes him sound mature and dignified,” Pyrrha asserted weakly, before uttering a single, barely audible ‘sorry’ as she slid back to join Blake in the background - her colour palette actually causing her to blend in with the restaurant’s decor more effectively than Blake did.  
  
Trent’s gaze turned to her, and he stoically declared, “Next you’re going to tell me that you can make sense of Oobleck’s Pepe Sylver corkboard. This isn’t a place where bullshit slides.”  
  
Meanwhile, Jaune had been emboldened by the redhead’s mild praise, puffed his chest out, and only further emphasized the fake gravel in his voice. “Yes, we shall take one large table for a party of most vulnerable compatrons, milady.”  
  
"I should have said no to the offer," Ichabod muttered as he brought his hands against his face, overcome by cringe. "Shoulda just stayed back in the room and slept the day off, Jesus _fuck_."  
  
“You fucking made this happen,” Trent stated, looking Pyrrha directly in the eye. “You have no one to blame for this but yourself.”  
  
“ _I’m sorry,_ ” was all Pyrrha could muster by way of response, almost appearing as though she were attempting to hide behind the trash bin next to the main entrance by that point.  
  
Stacy, meanwhile, had started to melodically laugh at the byplay, her voluptuous form trembling mesmerizingly as she did so. “Y’all’re just a right barrel o’ laughs, ain’tcha? Well, come on then ‘lil nuggies, let’s get y’all sat down then!” she turned on the ball of her feet and motioned for the group to follow her.  
  
Hjøphiël just wordlessly ambled along after the cute girl, idly waving to the other assorted girls working the tables that waved and greeted him specifically, acknowledging the group as a whole as his ‘lovely’ friends and such. Weiss followed along shortly afterwards.  
  
Samael made sure to keep his fair distance from the Schnee as he followed along, finding a seat between Ichabod and a still disgruntled Blake. By the look on her face, she had a great number of things she wanted to say, but no idea in which order to say them.  
  
Quickly enough, everyone was seated, and Stacy deftly handed out menus. “Would y’all like drinks while y’make your orders?” she asked, smiling broadly at the group. “‘Cept for our ‘lil sweetheart Hjøëy here, we all know he likes him his iced tea, ain’t that right, hon?”  
  
Hjøphiël looked like he wanted to die.  
  
“Aw shucks, don’t be like that, you sweet ‘lil thing!” She proclaimed with a playfully dismissive wave towards the collared brunet before turning to the rest of the group. “So, what’ll it be for y’all?”  
  
“An iced tea for me as well.” Samael requested, unbuckling his coat’s collar and setting his fedora on his lap.  
  
Nodding from where he was seated beside Yang, Trent lifted his hand to signal as he added, “And one for me, please.”  
  
“Gimme an iced tea too, lassie-gal,” Jaune said with that continued forced growl to his voice as he leaned back in his chair, attempting to mimic Hjøphiël’s natural pose, coughing and lightly rubbing at his throat from the discomfort of the act.  
  
“Oh me oh my, look at all these boys of re-fined taste!” Stacy chirped as she jotted down their drinks on her notepad. “And for everyone else?”  
  
"I'll pass, for now, I'll take it when it's time to order," Ichabod said with a nod.  
  
“Cookies and milk!” Ruby requested cheerfully.  
  
“Oh bless your little heart sweetie, you can have all the cookies and milk you want!” Stacy proclaimed with a smile.  
  
Everyone else ordered their drinks and were informed that they’d have them in a minute, momentarily leaving the group alone for a bit.  
  
There was a long, distinct awkward silence as Jaune continued to try to look cool and failed miserably, Weiss calmly and politely waited for her drink, and everyone else was just uncomfortable.  
  
The din of the occupants’ chatter and Yang’s continued throaty giggling as she leered at the serving girls was all the sound that came from the table for a time.  
  
Stacy came back with their drinks and took their orders. Samael, notably, did not order anything, causing Blake’s expression to briefly switch from aggravated to concerned. The girl seemed to struggle with something, but in the end, refrained from saying anything.  
  
Again, the aftermath was dead silence, one which was eventually broken by a particular raven-haired young lady. “Why are we here?” Blake asked, critically looking over the entire gathered group. “Seriously, this is so… this is blatant exploitation, how are you all just okay with this?” She demanded to know, her delicate brow furrowing heavily as she did so.  
  
Hjøphiël shrugged. “Already said they guilt-tripped me into coming back - also the food is actually pretty good anyway, so-”  
  
“That’s beside the point!” Blake pressed, her nails digging into her leggings. “And don’t side-step the actual point of the question!”  
  
“Last week, Samael and I went to buy that apology card he got for Weiss,” Trent remarked, taking a sip of his drink. “The guy manning the cashier blatantly overcharged him with not just myself, but plenty of others in plain view. Racism is a thing that’s unfortunately prevalent in our society and while it’s an issue, this specific restaurant is nowhere near as problematic as other examples.”  
  
At that, Weiss actually turned to stare directly at Trent for a few long moments but didn’t actually say anything as her brow fell somewhat, a dubious expression taking hold on her pale features.  
  
Blake, meanwhile, had started to glare at Trent, then gave Samael an aghast, sympathetic look at the declaration.  
  
Samael idly stirred his drink with his straw, before adding his thoughts. “Don’t mistake me, Kali; I’m as uncomfortable as you are.” He blew out a sigh. “But sometimes, life gives you lemons, and if it's lemons or starving, I know what I’d pick.”  
  
Ruby cringed at that, as did Blake, but otherwise didn’t immediately say anything. Hjøphiël let out a small sigh and a shake of his head but didn’t have much of a pronounced reaction to the statement himself.  
  
Ren and Nora just sat quietly, the ginger-haired girl being unusually silent as she seemed to have picked up on the discomfort with the entire situation at some point, Ren just bearing it as stoically as ever.  
  
Even Yang had seemed to notice the rapidly changing atmosphere and had planted herself firmly in her seat to stop leering at the serving girls.  
  
After a few more minutes of silence that was, somehow, even _more_ awkward than the last stint, their food was brought out. The next few minutes found its silence filled with the noise of deep-fried chicken and assorted fixin’s being shovelled into gobs, with the exception of Weiss, who somehow managed to eat her wings and drumsticks with a knife and fork, and Samael, who hadn’t ordered anything save a refill of the restaurant’s admittedly good iced tea.  
  
As Ichabod finished a gulp of soda, he glanced at the snake Faunus with a raised brow. He scratched at his chin for a little bit before he sighed and finally chose to break up the silence.  
  
"Now that I think about it, Sammy, I haven't seen you eat in, like..." The Vacuan winced. " _A while_. It's almost always just plain water or something of the sort. You alright?"  
  
Samael cocked his head to one side as he sipped his tea. “What? No, I ate recently—Trent, what day was the Pastry Voring?”  
  
“Uh, like, three, four days ago?” the blond answered, blinking as he thought back on the matter. “You know that my memory is garbage.”  
  
“You too, huh?” Samael said with a commiserating sigh. “But that sounds about right; see? I ate like three or four days ago. It’s fine.”  
  
“You _what!?_ ” Blake practically shot up from her seat as she slammed her hands onto the table and leaned over towards Samael, her eyes going wide and buggy. As the dark-haired girl loomed over him and Samael leaned back, his eyes briefly fixed on something: the bow Blake was wearing was _twitching._ Suddenly, a number of things fell into place for Samael, but he wasn’t particularly focused on that at the moment.  
  
“That’s not- you can’t- _that’s not fine! Why aren’t you eating!?_ ” She demanded to know, looking openly panicked.  
  
Hjøphiël had turned in his seat to gaze directly at Samael as well, his expression one of deep-seated concern. “Dude, that’s not normal - not unless you live in a slum.”  
  
Ichabod likewise looked at him with his mouth hanging wide open in surprise. "Yeah, _holy shit,_ what?"  
  
Nora had started to stare at the snake Fanus as well, her expression unreadable as Ren nonchalantly took a hold of her hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.  
  
Trent slowly sipped his drink, his eyes closing as he shook his head. “Samael, you stupid nuggie, did you _not_ tell anyone other than me?”  
  
Samael’s eyes widened. “...Shit.” The snake Faunus palmed his face, muttering something inaudible to himself, then straightened. “Right, so. Storytime.” He pointed at Hjøë. “First off, you hit the nail on the head, even if you were probably joking. Ma’ found me in a gutter and took me in. Her family didn’t like that, so I grew up in Vale’s slums.”  
  
The Faunus then tented his hands and leaned forward, eyes fixed on the table as he twiddled his thumbs absently. “As for the not eating thing...well, you know how snakes can regulate their metabolism to survive long periods of time without food?” He gave a sad smile and spread his hands. “Well, when Ma’ started having to go without food so I could eat, I did what I had to do.”  
  
Nora’s expression fell ever-so-slightly, yet significantly. Her eyes started to dart about, overcome by some strong emotion as Ren’s grip on her hand strengthened.  
  
Blake’s jaw had practically hit the table, and she looked absolutely mortified, heartbroken and angry. She’d begun to tremble head-to-toe, and Samael even noticed how her bow had begun to slant backwards rather tellingly. Probably a cat Faunus, then...  
  
Hjøphiël had continued to stare at Samael, not noticing the other stares directed at his partner. After a moment of intensely uncomfortable silence, he spoke up in a dry, uncritical tone. “You too, huh?”  
  
Samael gave a sad smile, and nodded, then returning his gaze to his hands, pretty thoroughly embarrassed by the situation.  
  
Everyone was now staring between the two, Samael and Hjøphiël, eyes wide with horror that the implications of the three simple words and laced with ample sympathy.  
  
“Wait,” Weiss spoke up properly for the first time since that morning, actually turning to and addressing Hjøphiël directly. “What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you from Atlas? Atlesians don’t go hungry-”  
  
“I’m from Mantle,” Hjøphiël cut her off, gazing at the pale young lady out of the corner of his eye. “The part where you do what you have to do to survive,” he intoned, no particular inflection present on his tongue as he spoke.  
  
That shut Weiss up really quickly, and she rapidly refocused on her meal before her. Meanwhile, Blake and Nora couldn’t stop staring between the two, Nora now fidgeting uncomfortably as Blake’s nails damn near started to dig into the tabletop, her expression absolutely stormy as she snapped her eyes between the two in extreme rapidity.  
  
There was a moment of incredibly uncomfortable silence, and when it seemed like neither of the two were going to expound upon what they’d just said, the sombrero-wearing Vacuan decided that it was time to give his partner rightful shit.  
  
He sighed and glanced at the bespectacled blond. "Goddamn it, Trent, why didn't you tell us this?"  
  
“Because, it’s Samael’s business, and I thought he’d told you guys. I mean, Hjøë’s his partner after all,” the blond answered, his eyes closing as he reached up to massage his temples.  
  
"Oh for...that's just vital information you don't just assume everyone knows, you utter nuggie." The Vacuan remarked as he shook his head.  
  
Quirking an eyebrow, Trent sighed, “Again, I thought he told you guys. As for this new revelation…” He looked over at Hjøphiël, and then at the others. “We’re great at communicating, as is obvious to all, now.”  
  
"No way. José, I wouldn't have known if you hadn't told me..." Ichabod remarked sarcastically, his hand moving for a chicken leg.  
  
The rest of their meal was eaten in relative silence from there on out.  
  
\---  
  
As the group’s plates were gathered up, Blake, who had been deep in thought about Samael and Hjøphiël’s situations which completely recontextualized all of their previous behaviour, least of all because of the extreme similarities to her own… _situation_ , turned around upon hearing a plate slip and bang loudly on the table behind them.  
  
When she did, what she caught sight of was an uncomfortably generous view up the skirt of one of the bird Faunus girls waiting the tables, attempting to gather up the empty plate she’d dropped by leaning across the table to grab it. At the sight, all of her previous anger at the reminder of this place being built on the exploitation of her fellows came roaring back, and, as per usual, her mouth moved faster than her brain.  
  
“How can you tolerate living like this?” She demanded of the girl with the bright, multi-coloured hair, who turned about with a surprised expression on her face.  
  
“I- I’m sorry?” she asked, the name tag prominently displayed on her bountiful chest proclaiming her name to be Jessica.  
  
“How can you work here? Having your race be callously degraded and exploited like this?” Blake pressed, her brow creasing into a steely knot as she twisted about in her chair, pointing harshly at the incredibly short skirt Jessica was wearing. “Don’t you have _any_ self-respect!?”  
  
The waitress just blinked in befuddlement and some visible offence as she took a step back, reaching down and tugging her skirt lower self-consciously. “W-we’re encouraged to personalize our outfits as long as they match the colours of the restaurant…”  
  
“Oh, so what, you enjoy putting yourself on display for humans like this?” Blake pressed, now partially standing from her chair as she glared at the green-eyed girl. “What the hell are-”  
  
“Working here means I don’t have to work in the Dust mines like my brother, you know,” Jessica said quietly, her expression had fallen as she returned Blake’s glare with mounting disdain. “And Mrs. Popout doesn’t just pay us well - well enough that I can help my mom with her hospital bills, she also _protects_ us from people that overstep their boundaries. Unlike every other place I’ve ever worked where I had to just _take it_ when someone decided they wanted to get grabby.”  
  
Blake had recoiled like she’d been struck, eyes widening as all of her righteous indignations were immediately blasted away. “I-”  
  
“And what would _you_ know about exploitation anyway?” Jessica pressed, now looking at Blake like she was pond scum. “I don’t see any Faunus traits on you. Where do you even get off lecturing any of us for working in the best job we’ve ever had just because we’re encouraged to dress nicely for the customers?”  
  
Before Blake could respond, a hand wrapped around her arm and drew her back. “Kali, that’s enough,” Yang said in a firm tone.  
  
“W-we’re sorry, miss!” Ruby declared, looking incredibly embarrassed by the show that had just played out. “Y-you have a really, really nice restaurant, and you’re all really nice! I-I think that Kali’s just having a really bad day for some reason, please, don’t hold it against her!”  
  
Jessica gazed at Ruby, then the rest of the mortified and embarrassed table. She let out a sigh as she shook her head before continuing to speak. “My brother’s been having to work extra shifts at the mine lately. He’s had heartburn for an entire week straight,” she declared before she took a few steps away, halting again to finish before leaving. “He works in a Fire Dust mine.”  
  
With that, she marched off, Jaune spoke up, raising a hand after her as if to reach out. “I-I think your outfits are really nice-”  
  
At that point, Trent put his hand over the taller blond’s mouth, making sure to clamp it there. Seeing the young lady slowly trudging away, he called after her, “Again, we’re truly sorry for the scene.”  
  
Jaune practically threw Trent’s hand from his face, glowering at the shorter blond. “Hey! I was _trying_ to reassure her, you idiot!” He shook his head before turning back to face the group, pointedly not looking right at Blake as he did so. “What was that supposed to mean, anyway? About her brother working in a mine and the heartburn? Do they serve bad Vacuan food there or something?”  
  
“It means he’s contracted Dust Lung,” Hjøphiël immediately interjected in a grave tone, staring at the table with his lips drawn into a firm line, hands drawn into trembling fists. “Fire Dust Lung at that…”  
  
While most everyone at the table looked mortified, Jaune just looked confused. “Dust what now?”  
  
“It means that someday soon all the Fire Dust particles that’ve been accumulating in his lungs are going to activate all at once, and…” Hjøphiël shook his head, expression screwing into firm distress and disgust as he recalled some of the worst memories of his life on account of the topic. “He’ll spontaneously combust.”  
  
Jaune’s eyes went wide and his skin pale at that declaration.  
  
“...It’s only survivable if someone’s Aura is activated by the time the particles go off,” Pyrrha added quietly. “It’s one of the worst ways someone can go - but at least it’s quick, compared to Lightning Dust.”  
  
“Or Gravity Dust,” Ren added darkly, which elicited a round of shivers across the entire group.  
  
“I-” Jaune started, hesitating before he shrunk into his seat. “ _Oh_.”  
  
Silence reigned for a long few moments before Weiss eventually broke it.  
  
“What are you fools talking about?” she demanded, furrowing her brow as she glowered at the entire party. “That isn’t a _thing_ , I’d have heard about it if it was! You’re just spouting some White Fang drivel you heard in rumours in the hallways-”  
  
“ _I’ve seen it fucking happen,_ ” Hjøphiël very harshly cut her off, slowly settling his gaze upon the Schnee Dust Company heiress, his body language stony and minute. “If you aren’t aware of it, then maybe you should look it up back at the academy using your Scroll and educate yourself on some of the reasons the White Fang might be doing what they do, _Miss Schnee,_ ” he practically hissed at her through clenched teeth.  
  
Weiss’ expression was more than a little taken aback, but Blake’s was more so. Previously, she’d recognized the fighting style Hjøphiël had used on Winchester - she’d fought enough Atlesian soldiers in her time as a White Fang operative to be intimately familiar with it. He was a soldier or was in the military, he had to have been - in fact, he had to have guarded Dust Mines at some point, to have _seen_ the effects of Dust Lung like that. Most humans just weren’t allowed to witness it at any point… and, he, obviously an Atlesian soldier, just _defended the White Fang?_  
  
Blake didn’t even know how to begin processing that.  
  
Weiss, meanwhile, had recovered and returned Hjøphiël’s glare full force. “Maybe I will! And maybe I’ll find nothing but posts on conspiracy theory pages on Scrollbook and nothing else to back up these absurd claims!” she rose to her feet, and pointed harshly at Blake as she did so. “And _you_ , Kali, the girls here are built _perfectly_ for this job! Don’t get on their case for doing what they were obviously bred for!” At that, she turned to the counter and started marching off, withdrawing a credit card from… _somewhere_. “ _I’ll_ pay for today’s meal since _I_ at least can appreciate when a Faunus does what they were made for properly.”  
  
Weiss clearly sincerely believed that she was defending the company and its employees with that statement, and held her head high as she dropped her credit card on the cashier’s counter.  
  
The entire rest of the party, and several of the serving girls as well, on the other hand, stared at the back of her head completely expressionlessly.  
  
“...Fun group, this one,” Yang _very_ dryly declared as she slipped the bacon and eggs scarf off of her and Trent, no longer having the heart to play into a joke at that point.  
  
“A regular party,” Samael replied just as dryly. “Reminds me of the fun times we’d have at the soup kitchens, watching the hobo fight club.”  
  
Trent took a moment to measure his hand against Samael’s mouth and shook his head. “What, Yang? Depressing discussions of starvation, Kali’s sudden vehement stance towards activism, and Jaune’s utter inability to flirt don’t do it for you? Talk about hard to please.”  
  
At that, Yang sighed and shook her head in disappointment, echoing Samael. “A regular party.”


	17. A Peek Behind the Curtain

Beacon’s library had a truly prodigious selection, Samael reflected as he passed between towering shelves. Even the book trade he frequented from time to time could not compare, despite its claim of “being home to every book under the sun”. As he exited one row and moved to the next, his gaze drifting over the scattered few students seated at the CCT terminals that were provided for research and recreation.  
  
His eyes rested on one particular white-clad figure for a scant second longer than the rest before he moved on to the next row of shelves, tilting the brim of his hat down to shade his urochrome eyes.  
  
The library was surprisingly quiet considering it was a part of Beacon Academy, whose student body was rambunctious at the best of times - though it seemed that the risk of getting into a fight with nerds capable of punching one through a wall if they didn’t respect the quiet rule discouraged most of the more cacophonous members of the academy from taking root there.  
  
“Excuse me, Samael?” Blake suddenly spoke up from behind Samael, who had been perusing the fantasy section of Beacon’s collection of tomes both factual and fantastical in nature, his probing finger having momentarily halted on a novel whose title premise was the story being set on a world without Grimm.  
  
The belt-swaddled snakeman gave a jolt of surprise, having utterly failed to hear the incognito Faunus approach. After gathering what remained of his dignity (which really wasn’t much, to be fair), Samael cleared his throat and replied, “Yes, Kali? How can I help you?”  
  
The ravenette seemed conflicted for a moment but eventually nodded her head resolutely before continuing. “It’s been bothering me since yesterday, how Trent just casually mentioned that a shopkeeper blatantly overcharged you for the card you bought for Weiss… is that true?” she asked, eyes furrowing as she fixed her gaze on Samael’s ghoulish features, unbeknownst to him, scanning his face for any signs of deceit.  
  
Samael sighed, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Weiss had stilled at the terminal she’d been sitting at, and was conspicuously doing her best to _not_ look like she was eavesdropping. “Aye, that he did. Charged me eight lien for a four lien product.”  
  
A few moments of silence followed before Blake’s brow fell heavily, looking incredibly disappointed - both by the situation and in Samael himself. “And why did you just take that? That’s _illegal_ , shopkeeps aren’t supposed to be allowed to get away with that. You could have gone to the authorities, or riled up a crowd, or-”  
  
“Riled up a crowd?” Samael cut her off, a dubious expression on his face. “There’s only two ways _that_ could end: with me and everyone else in the mob getting arrested for disturbing the peace, or for actual injuries or property damage to happen, the protestors get beaten, and _then_ we’d get arrested.”  
  
Out of the corner of his piss-yellow eyes, Samael saw Weiss twitch in what he could only assume was annoyance.  
  
“What is _that_ supposed to mean? The right to peaceful protest extends to both Humans and Faunus in Vale!” Blake asserted as she jabbed a finger into Samael’s chest. “If they _did_ dare to _break the law_ like that _just_ to be racist to Faunus protesters, then you’d all be well within your rights to strike back against their blatant oppression!”  
  
Samael scoffed. “Sure, it’s illegal on paper, but in practice, who are the courts going to believe? Not some ‘Faunus street urchin and his gang’, that’s for damn sure.” His eyes narrowed. “And fight back? To what end? All that would—”  
  
At that point, Blake leaned forward, clenching her teeth together and practically hissing in a voice too low for Human ears to hear from their isolated position, her bow twitching backwards as she did so. “ _To what end!? To remind the Humans of what happened the last time they trampled all over our rights you-_ ” It was at that point that Blake realized she’d slipped up, her delicate features paling as she shrunk in on herself and her eyes went wide.  
  
 _“And what then?”_ Samael replied in the same low voice. _“When the street runs red with the blood of innocent people and racists alike, what then does that buy_ our _people?”_ It was at that moment that the snake man saw Weiss stand up out of the corner of his eye, angled towards them and looking ready to intervene in what looked like an increasingly combative interaction between her teammate and the man that had, to her mind, previously assaulted and humiliated her. Samael sighed at the sight before addressing Blake. “We should continue this discussion in a less public venue.”  
  
Blake followed his gaze, and only just noticed that Weiss had been nearby the entire time, immediately flinching and rubbing at her bicep with a shuddering breath at how careless she’d been so near to the Schnee heiress. “Probably,” she sheepishly admitted as she immediately took off to leave the library, assuming Samael would follow shortly after her. She addressed Weiss as she walked past the girl by necessity. “I just got into an argument about Faunus rights with him, it’s nothing to-”  
  
Weiss let out a long, drawn-out sigh, shaking her head as she fell back into her seat. “You really must cease aiming to lecture Faunus on their societal status, Kali. Even if I wholly agree with you on those legal matters you mentioned, Faunus can be volatile at the _best_ of times. Do not agitate them over matters they cannot control… it is wiser to instead strike at the heart of the issue, the store owners and law enforcers abusing their authority to lash down at their lessers needlessly.”  
  
She smoothed out both her silken white hair and skirt as she refocused on the terminal in front of her, the search engine line currently filled with the unfinished ‘Dust Lung’ query she’d been about to look into when Blake had started a scene with Samael.  
  
“A shepherd that abuses their herd is unfit for their position, after all,” the Schnee Dust Company heiress primly declared with certainty as she continued to focus on her previous task.  
  
From where he stood in the fantasy section Samael let out a sigh. He really didn’t know what to make of Schnee. On one hand, she was _flagrantly_ racist. On the other hand, there were times like this, where she _seemed_ to be trying to defend the legal rights of Faunus, but spoke in such a way as to only dig her own hole deeper.  
  
And on the third hand, which was probably made of maggots knowing his luck, she’d been raised by Jacques _fucking_ Schnee. For that alone she had his pity; he could only imagine what living with that serpent of a man was like, and he was literally a serpent!  
  
Blake, meanwhile, was visibly attempting to bore a hole through the back of Weiss’ head with her eyes, which were metaphorically aglow with righteous indignation and fury at the continued and flagrant denigration of her people with every word out of her teammate’s mouth.  
  
At the moment when it seemed like any other person would lash out, Blake, instead, sheepishly turned away from the silver-haired heiress and continued towards the hallway door, seemingly having no intention of confronting Weiss for her degrading language and mindset. A few of the other students that occupied the room watched her go, some Human, some Faunus, all visibly uncomfortable with the exchange which had just occurred.  
  
Blake, it seemed, wasn’t the only person that didn’t want to touch this particular issue with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole.  
  
Samael followed after the black-haired beauty after a few moments, and Weiss pointedly didn’t acknowledge him as he passed her by beyond tensing up for a few moments as he neared her. Quickly enough, the pair had departed, and she finally sent her search query into the CCT internet.  
  
Weiss had been expecting a load of crackpot conspiracy theories on Scrollbook, and perhaps that infamous hacker website QuartetClover. Instead, what she got as the first hit was a report from the Vale News Network - one involving a local Faunus from a Dust Mine experiencing sudden onset Gravity Lung in the middle of a local shopping mall.  
  
Weiss immediately regretted unblurring the pictures taken on the scene of the incident.  
  
Had she not been already bordering on albino, her flesh would have paled at the pictures which marred the terminal she was doing research on. A man had _imploded_ in full view of the mall’s food court, and it took the better part of an entire day to clean up the resulting… _mess_.  
  
Then she got to the section of the article which noted that the Schnee Dust Company was denying any affiliation with the man, and had threatened the reporter who brought up that he was listed as a current employee at the local Dust mine in public records with legal action for slander.  
  
Weiss just stared at the terminal for a fair while. She’d only _heard_ tales of how gruesome some corpses could turn out after a Grimm attack, but she imagined that what had happened to that man wouldn’t look too different.  
  
How could she have never heard of this before now? Vanta had mentioned that he lived in Mantle - surely, she’d have heard of that happening so close to Atlas? And… Vale would have no reason to fabricate lies about the SDC in their public records, so why would the SDC be acting as they had? That didn’t sound legal, but her father wouldn’t allow for something like that to happen, would he?  
  
A long silence followed as Weiss considered that thought.  
  
She quashed it furiously. For as temperamental as her father could be, that was only because of the actions of those terrorists, the White Fang. Were it not for them, he’d have no reason to lash out at her- _people_ as often as he had. This was surely a result of an incompetent reporter mixing up records and such.  
  
Though Weiss thought regardless, perhaps it might not be a terrible idea to ask her elder sister Winter about the matter.  
  
And perhaps, as much as the thought of going near him rankled at her, regardless of his Semblance having been suppressed or not, she thought it might be wise to ask Vanta for more details on what he’d seen in regards to the effects of Dust Lung.  
  
\---  
  
Blake came to a stop on the cliffside where the bullheads were docked, her long, raven black hair billowing lightly in the wind as she set her hands on the railings surrounding the edge and gazed out at Vale in the distance. Given the time of day, she couldn’t think of a more ‘private’ spot on campus grounds than the rarely-visited docks. Rarely-visited unless someone was passing through on their way to the city proper, at least.  
  
There, she brooded, waiting for Samael to catch up, which only took him a few seconds. The becoated man leaned back against the railing beside her with a sigh, pressing one hand to his fedora to keep it from flying away in the wind.  
  
For a time, the only sound was that same wind. Eventually, though, Samael broke the silence. “I don’t begrudge you hiding your traits, just so you’re aware.”  
  
“Maybe you _should_ ,” Blake immediately snapped back before her brain caught up to her mouth and she cringed back, grimacing heavily as she shook her head. “I mean, I just-” she went quiet for a few moments, considering her words before speaking, for once. “It isn’t something we’re supposed to hide, as though we’re ashamed to be what we are. I… I shouldn’t be doing it. I really shouldn’t.”  
  
“Then why are you?” Samael asked, without rancour. There was no judgement in his tone, just curiosity.  
  
“Because I have to,” she declared darkly, her knuckles turning white as her grip on the railing intensified and her gaze fell to her feet.  
  
“That’s...not exactly an answer,” Samael commented. “I’m not gonna push if you’re not comfortable sharing, though.”  
  
“I can’t,” Blake asserted to Samael, not quite turning to face him directly as her voice already took on a marginal warble. “It’s not that I- I just _can’t_. It would endanger too many people. It’s, it’s bad enough that I can’t even tell people my real name! I-” Blake’s teeth produced a loud click as she snapped her mouth shut, realizing that she was oversharing to a dangerous degree, _again_. She was so used to being able to talk freely with someone, Adam, or Ilia, _someone_. To have to just, clam up and never say anything to anyone, it was getting to her, and Samael, damn it, he reminded her so much of Adam that she already felt herself slipping into old habits.  
  
Samael arched a brow at the tumult of information that had just been laid at his feet. “Endanger people? Even in a place like Beacon, with dozens of fully trained Huntsmen and Huntresses?”  
  
Blake had averted her gaze from Samael, now practically staring off in the opposite direction he was standing. After a few moments, she gave him a simple reply. “Yes.” Adam was… _beyond_ the average Huntsman. He alone, even without the rest of the White Fang - she wasn’t sure that even Ozpin or Glynda could slow him down.  
  
Samael’s second brow joined the first in attempting to hide in his hairline. “...I can’t pretend I know who it is that pursues you, Kali, but I do think you might be giving the professors here a bit too little credit. ‘Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young’, and all that.”  
  
“If you knew who it was I’m hiding from, you wouldn’t downplay what he could do if he sets his mind to it,” Blake asserted darkly, her bow practically flattening against her head as she spoke. “He’s- he’s the reason I have to use this name, one without meaning to anyone, anywhere, except to _me_ \- one that even he doesn’t, _wouldn’t_ know…” she trailed off, face falling as she looked increasingly pained with each spoken word.  
  
Samael’s surprised expression softened into an expression of concern. He didn’t really know what to say to that.  
  
After a few moments of silent reminiscing on Blake’s part, she took a deep breath, and let it out as her gaze levelled with the horizon, distant signs of activity in Vale in the distance. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Samael. I’ve done a lot of things I’m,” she paused, grimacing before continuing. “A lot of things I’m not proud of. Things… I think only you, or, maybe, Hjøphiël _might_ understand. And-” she stopped, her brows scrunched up, and she shook her head. “And I’m talking without thinking again, I don’t know why I’m saying even this much to you. The less you all know, the better.”  
  
At that, she turned, and took a few steps back towards Beacon, before stopping and seeming to consider something before talking again.  
  
“I’m a feline Fanus, and I’m hiding it from everyone for their own good,” she asserted as she reached up and touched the bow on her head, concealing her second set of cat-like ears. “Just… please, leave it at that, Samael. I don’t want anyone else to pay for my mistakes.”  
  
With that, Blake finally started off, a noticeably increased weight upon her shoulders, pointedly, and with visible effort, not looking back over her shoulder at Samael as she departed, for his sake, not because, not _just_ because the thought of him knowing even this much terrified her, which it _didn’t_.  
  
Samael pushed off of the railing and reached a hand out after her. “Kali, wait; you shouldn’t have no one to turn to—” For a moment, he thought he’d gotten through to her, as she paused, but then she redoubled her pace in a barely-concealed rising panic. His arm fell to his side.  
  
 _“Fuck.”_  
  
He wasn’t about to chase after a girl who was visibly running away from him; he’d learned his lesson from the _last_ time he’d tried to make a situation better and subsequently almost triggered a panic attack.  
  
Let it not be said this man couldn’t learn.


	18. Extracurricular Activities

Pyrrha resolutely marched down the hallways of Beacon academy with a near-militaristic cadence, eyes locked forward as she made her way to the training arena of the stainless steel, spartan gym where she’d heard members of team HITS were currently honing their skills.  
  
Something kept coming up to distract her from doing so, but now she was going to actually ask their resident close-combat experts to be her sparring partners. Trent’s approach to hand-to-hand combat was, well, _rough_ , but what little she had seen of his style had still managed to give her ideas enough to want to pick at his brain.  
  
And Hjøphiël… she still couldn’t believe what his casual dismantling of Cardin had looked like - it was legitimately next level, the way he disassembled his weapon and took him out of the fight in seconds was simply stunning. There was no doubt that he was aiming to get into bounty hunting when he graduated, and it was always wise to round out one’s skills lest they encounter a situation they are not specialized for.  
  
So, the tall redhead crossed the threshold leading to the so-called ‘Combat Zone,’ her combat stilettos producing a distinct click-clack with each step taken. There in the centre of the area were Hjøphiël and Trent. The blond was currently only barely managing to avoid being grabbed by the taller brunet by virtue of rampant abuse of his Semblance.  
  
“You said you wanted to spar, Trent, I’m starting to get tired of this dumb ‘warm-up!’” Hjøphiël declared with budding frustration in his tone. “If you don’t throw the first real punch, then I will!”  
  
“Goddamnit, you fucking gorilla, I said I wanted to learn that CQC of yours,” the blond retorted, keeping his distance as he measured his chances. “Why does everyone just immediately jump to combat, like they were hopped up on combat stims?”  
  
“Because it’s more fun that way, short stack!” Yang playfully called out from the sidelines, shovelling mouthfuls of popcorn into her gob. “Go for the throat!”  
  
Hjøphiël growled in annoyance as he threw his arms into the air. “I can’t teach you how to grapple without giving examples you little fucking gremlin-”  
  
“Excuse me!” Pyrrha interjected, smoothly making her way to the middle of the room and presenting a hand skywards to call attention to herself. Everyone paused mid-step to acknowledge her, including the other uniform-clad students that were waiting for their turn in the ring, and reflexively, “-I’m sorry!” Pyrrha apologized for interrupting. Yang rolled her eyes at the statement and leaned back in her seat to continue observing the proceedings.  
  
Pausing at the interruption, and looking at the redhead, Trent shelved the idea of telling Hjøë that Yang clearly wanted to be grappled herself, and studied the champion fighter for a moment. He then asked, “What’s up, Mistral Marvel?”  
  
At the mention of that nickname that so incessantly followed her everywhere she went, Pyrrha winced, halting her approach momentarily before minutely shaking her head and pressing on. They’d been treating her as just another member of JNPR up to this point, it wasn’t like they were suddenly going to start talking to her like she was anything special, right?  
  
“Hello again!” the bronze-clad amazonian lady waved her still outstretched hand. “I apologize for interrupting, but I actually wanted to talk to you three, or ask you something, actually, or I mean proposition- I’m sorry,” the green-eyed warrior stumbled over her words, her expression falling ever-so-slightly as she suppressed the urge to cringe at making a fool of herself in front of Jaune’s friends.  
  
“Please, stop, I’m catching secondhand cringe,” the blond remarked, holding up a hand to stall Hjøë as he studied the redhead’s reactions. “So, you wanted to ask something? Fire away.”  
  
As he spoke, a small contingent of students that had been quietly observing Trent and Hjøë started ambling towards the hallway door Pyrrha had entered through.  
  
“Ah, yes, I’m sorry, I did. I’ve actually been thinking about it since both of your duels with Cardin, but stuff kept coming up and it never seemed like a great time but, um, okay,” she took a breath to recenter herself - it was so strange talking to people that just treated her normally! “Well, I’ve noticed that you three are all exceptionally skilled close-quarters combatants, and I was thinking that it might be wise if we engaged in some jolly cooperation to- AH!” she cried out as one of the passing students suddenly reached out and hooked their arm around her elbow, quickly dragging her away from the area and towards the hallways. “E-excuse me, wait-”  
  
“What by the honour of the Vytal Accords are you thinking, Miss Nikos!?” one of the shorter girls that had positioned herself between Pyrrha and the HITS members practically hissed at her even as she was being dragged away.  
  
Back in the gym, Trent, Hjøë, and Yang all shared a look of confusion, wondering if they should interfere.  
  
“I-” Pyrrha blinked and shook her head at the suddenness of the situation and how she was being ambushed. “Who are you, and what are-”  
  
“We’re the top contributing members of the Vale branch of the Pyrrha Nikos international fan club,” the man that had grabbed her by the arm and hadn’t let go noted off to her side, his stride unbreaking. “And we can’t just stand by and watch you continue to commit social suicide, ma’am.”  
  
Pyrrha had to pause momentarily to process that, and another blue-haired member of the small group took the moment of hesitation to interject themselves. “We were keeping an eye on those two, _especially_ Vanta, after the way you’ve been naively spending time around them. At first, we thought they might just be ignorant as to your reputation, not understanding how they could tarnish your standing.”  
  
“But Blackmore _just_ called you the Mistral Marvel! They know, and they don’t care that they’re going to give you a bad name!” the short black-haired girl asserted. “That’s absolutely unacceptable, miss Nikos! You have to consider your reputation, you know! You can’t be seen associating with bottom-feeding scum like that!”  
  
“It’s a miracle no paparazzi have noticed it yet,” the tall ginger-haired man noted darkly. “That Vanta is a sex pervert, miss Nikos - and Blackmore, we’ve done a little digging into his past, and he’s…”  
  
“He’s _worse_! Depending on how you look at it!” The short girl asserted again, bringing her balled hands up before her and bouncing on her toes as she marched up behind them. “We _knew_ that he had to be _too_ normal to a member of team SHIT!”  
  
At that point, Pyrrha’s brow had fallen and crinkled, her nostrils flaring noticeably. “Excuse me, I do not believe that Trent’s background is-”  
  
“Don’t call that creep by his first name! People might hear!”  
  
“-Trent’s background is none of your business, nor is it any of mine!” the emerald-eyed redhead defiantly declared, pulling her arm free from the taller man’s grip just as they passed back into the hallway. “And do not call them that! They are team HITS, as is reflected on the academy’s official records!”  
  
“I don’t think you understand, Miss Nikos,” the tall figure noted lowly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Your reputation is on the line here. Are you even considering how many sponsorship deals you’re risking by being around those two creeps?”  
  
“Yeah! Pumpkin Pete’s is run by a _family-friendly_ company!” the little ravenette asserted as she jabbed a finger at the taller girl. “Think about what _your_ family will think if they learn about you hanging around those two!”  
  
“My- what do you mean my family? What do you know about my family!?” Pyrrha was now glaring at the shorter girl. “Why are you looking into my- who do you think you are-”  
  
“We’re concerned fans who are looking out for you before you make a big mistake,” the blue-haired young man said. “We’re doing this for your own good, miss Nikos-”  
  
“Have any of you considered Pyrrha’s own desires and overall personal happiness?” Trent asked, leaning in from the gym, his brows furrowed. “Like, sure, you guys seem to care a lot about her image and all that… but you seem to forget the person behind all that.” Closing his eyes and bobbing his head from side to side, he continued, “Honestly, it’s like you all came here so you could simp for her in person, rather than actually try to become Hunters.”  
  
The shorter black-haired girl actually leapt in place to land facing Trent, Hjøë, and Yang and _hissed_ at them, making claws at the three, at which point the actual cat-like claws on her fingertips could be seen. “You creeps keep your distance! Miss Nikos may be too soft-hearted to see what you’ll do to her reputation, but that’s why we’re here to do what needs to be done!”  
  
“So, what, you gonna complain or something? Because she’s allowed to do whatever she pleases with her time,” Trent remarked, looking to his teammate and fellow blonde for back up on the matter.  
  
“Yeah, so how about _you_ creeps back off-” Yang started with her hands on her hips, stepping towards the group still encircling Pyrrha, harshly ducking back as the short Faunus girl took a swipe at her with her claws.  
  
“I like how _we’re_ supposed to be the dangerous ones here,” Hjøphiël started as he stepped up, squaring up against the similarly-built tallest man with his own arms crossed over his chest. “Yet you’re the ones immediately resorting to violence after _abducting_ Pyrrha without her consent.”  
  
“Because we know what’s best for her,” the ginger-haired brutish man asserted with a sneer, not looking intimidated in the least by Hjøphiël being in grasping distance.  
  
Trent blinked and then looked at the man, gasping in shock before looking to Pyrrha. “Oh man, Pyrrha, why didn’t you tell us your trio of parents were coming! We’d have put a party together for them.” Looking back at the group, he shook his head ruefully and continued, “Seriously, though, you all need to just let her live her life as she wants to. If you really have a problem with us… well, we can always ask Professor Goodwitch to referee, no?”  
  
“Maybe we will,” the orange-haired brute said in a dry, arrogant tone as he continued to make unblinking eye-contact with Hjøphiël, who just looked unimpressed with the display. “Defending Miss Nikos’ honour in the arena would be our pleasure - doubly so when it’s you degenerates looking to ruin her public image.”  
  
“Perverted creeps just trying to catch Miss Nikos alone!” the raven-haired Faunus girl growled, still aggressively presenting her claws to Yang.  
  
“I hope you’re planning on bringing something a lot more impressive to the fight than those things,” Yang derisively noted to the shorter girl. “Either way, you’re coming out of it with a lot more than just a broken nail if you keep this shit up, you creeps.”  
  
“You dare-” the blue-haired lad stepped forth and glowering at Yang, only to blink dumbly once he noticed Pyrrha slipping through the cracks and sidling up alongside Trent, Hjøphiël, and Yang.  
  
“You may want to involve your fourth team member in this too,” the fair-skinned redhead advised the group that declared themselves to know better than she did, standing almost at attention as she openly glowered at the three. “Otherwise this will be a rather uneven fight.”  
  
The three who had attempted to shanghai Pyrrha all looked taken aback, then shook their heads in disappointment. “Looks like Miss Nikos needs to have some sense knocked into her,” the blue-haired guy declared as he ran a hand through his navy-blue locks.  
  
“Have you not considered how actually awful that sounds?” Trent asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he studied the seemingly oblivious guy.  
  
“Don’t think we don’t remember what happened with Schnee at the entrance ceremony!” The catgirl snarled at Trent. “It’s _obvious_ that’s what’s happening here all over again!” she thrust a finger out at Hjøphiël, who hadn’t broken eye contact with the ginger-haired guy once. “You touch Miss Nikos like you did that racist little slut, I’ll gouge your eyes out! You hear!?”  
  
The brute leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between himself and Hjøphiël as he did so. “If you dare to defile the purity of Lady Nikos…”  
  
“I don’t think you’re improving your chances of getting a date with her by saying shit like that, y’know,” Hjøphiël dryly noted as he actually cringed back, his upper lip practically cramping from the stress with which it was drawn back. “Fucking creep.”  
  
Trent looked to Pyrrha, and reached out, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry that you have to deal with empty-headed simps like this, you deserve so much better in life.”  
  
“YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH THE QUEEN-” the ginger-haired guy snarled, his until-then stony countenance screwing up in unhinged rage as he moved to lunge for Trent - only to suddenly have his outstretched limbs caught and twisted into an extremely painful lock by the resident close-quarters-expert.  
  
“ _Don’t,_ ” Hjøphiël advised both him and his teammates who immediately looked ready to pounce and go on the offensive at the escalation-  
  
“INDEED!” Bellowed a familiar voice as Professor Peter Port marched into the gym, clad in a bright orange, sleeveless, skin-tight exercise romper with matching head, wrist, and ankle bands. Slung over his shoulders was a squat bar bearing at least six hundred pounds worth of weight— _on each side._ Despite this incredible weight, his stride was firm and true as he approached the two groups.  
  
“Mister Vanta has the right of it! If you fellows have a quarrel to sort out, the gymnasium is not the place for it!” The professor’s bushy eyebrows spasmed like epileptic caterpillars as he frowned sternly. “Deputy Headmistress Goodwitch has afternoon office hours from four to six, so if you aim to settle your disagreement with a good old-fashioned donnybrook, you can set something up with her. But if you intend to stay here…” Port transitioned from standing to a full squat in half a second, then rose back to his feet just as swiftly. “...then I suggest you busy yourselves with something more _productive_.”  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “Am I understood?”  
  
“Crystal, Sir,” Hjøphiël replied, having released the purity-freak and stepped back to near-reflexively fall into attention at the plus-sized Professor’s commanding presence.  
  
“Yes, Professor,” the little cat girl replied as she retracted her claws and glowered at the opposing makeshift team, bearing her fangs at Yang, in particular, the entire time.  
  
Yang responded by pulling her lower eyelid down and sticking her tongue out at her.  
  
Trent shrugged as he allowed his posture to relax, murmuring, “Roger roger.”  
  
“Capital!” Port bellowed, falling into another squat right there, seemingly content to continue his workout exactly in the way of the two groups.  
  
A few moments passed in what would have been awkward and tense silence were it not for the Professor’s rhythmic grunting. Eventually, the Pyrrha Simpclub started ambling away, all hateful glares. “Alcibia will put you creeps in your place! And free Miss Nikos from your spell! Just you wait!” the little ravenette asserted angrily as she made the ‘eyes on you’ gesture at the opposing group.  
  
Quickly enough, they were alone with Port and his deep, reverberating grunting.  
  
Pyrrha let out a long, drawn-out sigh, her entire figure slumping as she did so. “I… don’t know what’s worse, that this followed me to Beacon, or that this isn’t even the worst instance of this sort of thing I’ve been caught in the middle of yet… I’m sorry for making you all go through that,” she apologized with genuine guilt in her tone and eyes.  
  
Trent gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, and remarked, “Don’t worry about it, the upside about it happening here is that you can legally break their legs with no repercussions.”  
  
“I’ll put ‘em in a headlock while you go for the throat,” Yang declared with a lop-sided grin shot Pyrrha’s way, slamming her fists together with a nod. “Get Ruby in and she’ll definitely go for the legs - Crescent Rose is really well-suited for low drawing strikes like that, after all!”  
  
“We all got scrolls if any of them or their weird little club ever hassle you again,” Hjøphiël declared as he reached out and gave the redhead a light rap on her opposing shoulder, at which point he paused and let out a sigh. “Christ is it nice to be able to interact with girls normally again…”  
  
“Christ who?” Pyrrha asked even as he dismissed the question with a wave. “Um, well, anyways, th-thank you, all of you. I… I kind of came to Beacon to get away from that sort of stuff, everyone looking at me and just seeing the ‘Mistral Marvel,’ the ‘Invincible Girl,’ or the ‘Queen of Victory.’” She sheepishly grasped her hands behind her back and started tracing lines on the linoleum tiles with the tip of her bronze-clad toes nervously. “I’m, I’m glad you guys aren’t treating me any different from Jaune, Ren, or Nora.”  
  
There was a moment of relative silence punctuated by Port’s continued grunting, before Hjøphiël piped up with a legitimately surprised “You’re famous?”  
  
Pyrrha’s expression fell noticeably before she uncertainly asked, “D-does that change anything…?”  
  
Hjøphiël shrugged. “I don’t really care, just surprised is all.”  
  
“What, do you live under a rock or something? Have you never had Pumpkin Pete’s cereal before?” Yang asked, leaning towards Hjøphiël with a dubious look on her face. “Ruby goes through an entire box every three days back home on Patch!”  
  
Hjøphiël just gave Yang a heavily lidded look before responding with, “Yes, actually, I _have_ been living under a rock, in case you forgot.”  
  
Yang blinked, then rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Oh. Right. Mantle, under Atlas, the floating city… Ah ha, how’re you doing, Trent!?” She very inelegantly attempted to change the topic of the conversation.  
  
“Concerned about Ruby’s future diabetes,” the blond replied, rubbing at his chin as he frowned. “I almost got a box of that stuff once, but after seeing that it was ninety-nine percent sugar, I couldn’t stomach the thought.” Turning back to Pyrrha, he remarked, “Seriously though, you don’t have to worry about anything.”  
  
A small, contented smile had found purchase on Pyrrha’s statuesque features, and she nodded once in response. “I see… that’s good. I,” she paused, and sighed, giving the three a wide, joyous smile. “Thank you.”  
  
A few meters away, Peter Port smiled mid-squat. Truly, it warmed his heart to see his students come together and support one another, just as his strong back supported the weight he was lifting.  
  
Speaking of…  
  
“ANOTHER HUNDRED!” He bellowed, continuing to do squats in the middle of the hallway, preening under all the looks he was receiving.  
  
\---  
  
Ichabod had felt a lot of excitement when he first arrived at his job. It was a simple thing, hard but honest labour where he just had to do as was told, and not worry too much about the details or take the initiative. It helped that he had some familiarity with some of the things they needed of him and, at least from what he knew from his own experiences, it was _hard_ to fuck up.  
  
Admittedly, over the next few days, he'd have the wind taken out of his sails. The other workers at the docks were of the rowdy, talkative sort. Now that there was a new guy, of course he'd get a lot of attention, and thus prying questions and crass jokes flew his way like bullets to Grimm skulls. It was fortunate he expected something like that to happen and he'd mentally prepared himself for it, otherwise he wouldn't have managed to deflect and shoot quips back at them.  
  
The overall impression he gave off, as far as he knew, was that he wasn't the life of the party, but he wasn't a pain in the ass to work with either. It was _exhausting_ to deal with the workers, but it was what it was, and he was already used to that sort of thing.  
  
It was just the daily grind, and he could deal.  
  
One good day though, the boss gave him a call. It'd been enough time to get familiar with the way things were dealt with in the docks; now he had to prove if he wasn't just talking out of his ass during the interview. Simple enough, he thought at first, but when the woman told him she'd be following along for the first inspection of a ship, he felt a bit jittery.  
  
"So how're y'gonna do this?" She asked as she followed behind him, taking a look at the somewhat dingy walls and floor of the ship they'd boarded and gone inside of.  
  
"Well, we go as far down the ship as we can and work our way up." He explained with a shrug as he went down the stairs, hearing the clattering of metal as he stepped on a shoddily soldered plate.  
  
"Well, no duh, but _how_ 're you doing this?" She repeated the question with a different emphasis.  
  
Ichabod held back a sigh and he took out his scroll, "I look for whatever space looks like someone could jam something in, beneath piles of cargo, under ship furniture, that sort of thing."  
  
"Huh, that doesn't sound like something my boys would miss." The boss said critically, crossing her arms and furrowing her brow.  
  
"That's just the basics, but it never hurts to check them." The Vacuan cleared up as he fiddled around with his scroll, going through a few files on it. "Other than that,” he trailed off momentarily, “right, a common tactic is to run the ship without one of its engines actually doing anything, that way you can stuff it full of contraband."  
  
"Oh, now that's a new one." The blonde said with a whistle. "Think I heard someone say somethin' about that actually. Didn't think it was true, what with all the Grimm and all that."  
  
"Well, it depends. Sometimes the cargo's worth the risk of taking it slow, but I think the practice might have fallen out of...er, _vogue._ " Ichabod muttered the last part awkwardly when he blanked out for a moment and forgot other words to use. "It all depends on how they've got their operation set up, really."  
  
The woman hummed and made other sounds of puzzlement as she stroked her chin. The two made their way into the engine room after only a bit. It was in about the same state as the rest of the ship: looking incredibly shifty, with soot gathered around every vent and nut of the three large Dust-powered engines.  
  
"And what's that even mean?"  
  
Ichabod shrugged as he turned on the lantern on his shitty PDA-looking scroll.  
  
"Well, it's really a question of whether or not the crew of the ship is actually in on it or not." He explained as he checked the valves and measuring tools of the engine closest to him. "Like, sometimes, there's two parties smuggling goods, one on the dock the ship departs from and another on the one it arrives at. They load up the stuff on the first without the crew knowing, then the others get the stuff out at night when no one's looking."  
  
"Ah, that tracks." She replied with a nod as the Vacuan man proceeded to brush the back of his hand against the engines one by one. "So if the crew isn't in on it, they wouldn't know they stuffed the engines, turn em' on and fuck up the cargo."  
  
"Pretty much," The poncho-clad lad nodded as he stepped away from the engines before knocking on one. "They're clear."  
  
"Y'ren't," The woman quirked an eyebrow as she mangled several words into a horrible contraction. "I thought you'd crack them open or somethin'."  
  
"No need, they've got the same temperature. All of them were in use." He shrugged and moved beside his boss right out of the room, going back to peer at his scroll's screen as he turned off the flashlight.  
  
He'd then repeat the process a few times, go into a part of the ship, give a few places a quick once over, then move on. It was brief, so much so that his boss was looking a bit dubious of the entire thing. Frankly, the way he dragged his feet on the floor from room to room every now and then was likely the only reason they hadn't been out of the boat by the end of the half-hour mark.  
  
"By the way, where'd you even get that scroll? It looks so old."  
  
Ichabod winced at the question. "Ah, yeah, I just didn't have a lot of lien at the time, so I went and got it used, you know?"  
  
"Where even? I was like, thirty when those were in." She muttered as she examined it, looking at some scratches at the top edge of the screen "...who's Gwen?"  
  
" _I got it used that's the previous owner don't worry about it._ " Ichabod's words poured out of his mouth with the same speed as the motion with which he shoved the device in question inside his poncho.  
  
"What are you even looking at it for anyways?" She asked pointedly.  
  
"Oh, that? Sorry, it's just that I made some notes on all the stuff I remembered before I came to the job so I wouldn't forget it in the middle of it, that's all." The Vacuan said as he scratched at the back of his head awkwardly.  
  
The awkwardness of the situation got derailed as soon as Ichabod felt something shift beneath his foot as he moved it across a metal plate.  
  
"What?" The woman asked as the man knelt down and brushed his hand against the floor.  
  
"Gimme a second..." He replied as he messed around with one of the embedded rivets which held it in place. It shifted around without any give.  
  
With a frown, he took out a lien card and pried it out of place. He then moved to repeat the same process with every other one, every single one came out without any issues.  
  
"Jackpot..." Ichabod said as he moved the metal panel out of the way, making a hole on the floor leading down to the bottom of the hull. He leapt down without hesitation in spite of his boss' exclamations of surprise.  
  
Taking out his scroll one more time and turning on its light, he stood in stunned silence for a moment before calling out from the inside.  
  
"Oi boss, y'might want to call the cops now."  
  
"Well I'm not gonna jump down there! What'd you find!?" She yelled out in irritation.  
  
At that, she didn't get an answer. A few seconds after, she heard a message ping from her scroll. Annoyed at the sudden rudeness of his employee, at least compared to his previous behaviour, she checked the message to-  
  
It was a few pictures from him. The quality was terrible, as expected of a scroll as old as that, but the content was damning enough.  
  
When she was younger, she got to see some of the things there. A couple of times, she even used a bit, though she quickly backed off after seeing how bad things could get if she kept going. She didn't want anything to do with that anymore, but now it was shoved all over her face again.  
  
Piles and piles of some _real shit._ It was a wide selection; Brothers’ Dust, what looked to be uncut KnuKlovey, a stash of Faunus Bath Bombs, collections of pills ranging from things she couldn’t identify to common Euphoria.  
  
Worst of all, right at the back, was a flask full of Flaccid Pancake.  
  
"What the fuck."


	19. With Friends Like These

The Grimm Studies classroom was unusually quiet that day. Where usually the air would be filled with the boisterous professor’s boastful allegories, today the only sound permeating the air of the room was the slow, steady staccato of Peter Port’s pacing.  
  
The Brobdingnagian professor’s brows were even lower than usual, as though they were trying to escape his forehead and unite with their long-lost brethren on his lip. As the last students found their seats in the classroom, Port came to a halt behind his podium and faced the class at large.  
  
“It has come to my attention,” the professor pronounced with a deathly calm most unlike his usual joviality, “that a number of you have failed to be instilled with the spirit of camaraderie that is so important—nay, that is unquestionably _vital_ to your success as Huntsmen and Huntresses!”  
  
Professor Port slammed his fists onto the podium, causing the classroom to shake and the sound of splintering wood to fill the air as the wooden stand cracked cleanly down the middle. “THIS CANNOT STAND!” Roared the rotund man, his face purpling. “Teaching Grimm Studies may be my chief responsibility as your professor, but I would arraign myself for negligence if I allowed such a blatant and profound failing in my charges to remain unchecked!”  
  
The students of the class all started looking between themselves, intense confusion plastered on their faces as none of them understood what had brought this own.  
  
“Um, excuse me, professor,” a brown-haired Faunus with tall bunny ears atop her head raised her hand to request attention. “Is this about the incident between Teams HITS and CRDL several weeks ago? Because I cannot think of any other incidents between anyone else since then. In fact, it’s been rather uncharacteristically peaceful for Beacon as I understand-”  
  
“Perhaps you have not been kept abreast of Beacon’s latest scuttlebutt, Miss Scarlatina,” Port interrupted, “but just last week there was a confrontation between Team ALSD and Team PTYH-”  
  
“Wait, are you serious!?” Yang slapped the table she was seated at with the rest of RWBY, her golden brow wrinkling in a most unladylike manner as she shouted with a wide grimace. “Those Aloeswood goons went and started shit with _another_ group after us!? And I thought that Winchester was an ass!”  
  
Weiss, meanwhile, had cocked her head to the side in an unexpectedly cute manner, blinking once before interjecting with an elegantly raised finger. “Wait, professor, there’s no team called ‘Petrichor’ attending the academy and also is that even a colour-”  
  
“ENOUGH!” Port bellowed, brandishing a thick finger at that side of the room. “The details of the incident are ultimately irrelevant! What matters is that there is an appalling lack of fellowship and cooperation between teams, and I shall not stand for it!”  
  
He folded his arms over his burly chest and declared, “As such, today’s usual lessons will be supplanted with a team-building exercise! Now, group up in pairs. No pairs within your own teams, and no pairs with people you’ve already formed a bond of camaraderie.”  
  
Professor Port winked at Jaune. “That means you and Miss Schnee need to pair up with other people, Mister Arc. While the romanticism reminds me of my own storied youth, don’t think your dalliances have escaped my gaze.”  
  
Weiss’ face remained the perfect picture of dignified control and temperament as her nails very loudly and very suddenly dug centimetre-deep gouges in the shared wooden surface of the desk her team was currently using, momentarily catching the eye of everyone in the room.  
  
Jaune grinned at the teacher, shooting him a finger gun while clicking his tongue, which the grinning man returned in kind. “No problem-o, chief,” he redirected his pointer to Weiss the next table over, presenting an apologetic smile to the albino girl. “Maybe next time, my sugar-dusted little snow angel.”  
  
Pyrrha grimaced at Jaune’s statement as Ren patted her on the back, and Nora continued to snooze behind her propped-up mathematics notebook, entirely unbothered by the cacophonous racket going on around her.  
  
Her face firmly remaining the perfect picture of dignified control and temperament, Weiss started to tremble head-to-toe, an audible cracking now filling the room as she steadily applied downwards pressure on the desk which Ruby and Blake had both promptly lifted their notebooks from.  
  
Yang just looked far too amused with the situation as she chuckled under her breath.  
  
“Weiss!” Ruby practically stage-whispered to her subordinate. “I know you’re like, super-rich and stuff, but you shouldn’t break other people’s stuff just because you can replace it for them!”  
  
Otherwise, there was a long, awkward silence as everyone remained seated and just looked at each other, uncertain as to what they were supposed to do next.  
  
“Well, gotta expand our horizons and try to seek out new companions as the academy’s resident lepers,” Hjøphiël dryly noted from the desk where he and the rest of team HITS were pointedly keeping their heads down. “This oughta be fun.”  
  
Samael snorted as he got up from his chair, urochrome gaze sweeping the room from beneath the brim of his hat. “Fun, sure. Let’s go with that.”  
  
"I'll have you know that I resent being called a leper after I went and became a functional member of society with a job and all." Ichabod shot back at his team's leader with a cheeky grin on his face as he looked around the room.  
  
Rather than bother wallowing, Trent trundled off, looking for someone who might be willing to partner with him.  
  
Gradually, everyone somehow managed to be paired up with someone else, in some cases because most of the class just wanted to get this absurd exercise over and done with, and in others, because some people actually wanted to form a more proper bond with someone they’d not yet attempted to communicate with.  
  
Meanwhile, Blake had somehow wound up paired with Samael.  
  
The two broody Faunus with yellow-tinted eyes looked at each other, and the fairer of the two spoke up in a rushed tone. “Let’s just get this over with, whatever it is.”  
  
Samael gave a wry smile and replied, “Fair enough, Kali.”  
  
Once everyone had paired up, Port boisterously announced what they’d be doing. Namely, “consigning themselves to the harsh mercy of gravity, with only their trusted companion to turn to for salvation!”  
  
Or, in layman’s terms, trust falls.  
  
Several moments passed in agonizing awkwardness, Blake keeping her front firmly facing Samael, visibly stiffened upon the declaration of the exercise they’d be partaking in. And there she stood. Silent, still, her back metaphorically stuck to a wall and seemingly intent on remaining that way.  
  
After those moments passed, Samael scratched the back of his head and then nodded. “Right, then. I’ll go first.”  
  
Blake’s eyes widened and she somehow stiffened even more, but she didn’t say anything.  
  
The belt-swaddled snakeman frowned at this, but turned to expose his back to her, the snakeskin of his coat billowing faintly with the motion. “Ready?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as though he was about to be laid to rest.  
  
The ravenette just shrunk back somewhat, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the situation as she almost gave the impression of searching for an escape route.  
  
Samael gave a sigh. If she wasn’t going to initiate, he’d just have to force the issue. The lanky man pushed off with his toes, toppling backwards like a particularly sickly tree being felled…  
  
And struck the floor with a loud _thump_. For a brief few moments, Samael saw a stockstill Blake, her eyes wide with surprise despite not having moved an inch. Then, his vision was obscured by his fedora, which had fallen off his head and drifted down to land precisely over his face.  
  
“Ouch.” The snakeman said in his driest possible tone, remaining prone on the floor.  
  
The classroom, which been filled with an awkward silence after the surprisingly loud noise that had been made by Samael’s fall from grace, was broken by Trent’s voice echoing through the air, “Goddamnit Sammy, you nuggie, don’t _literally_ fall for a girl!”  
  
Meanwhile, in the background, Ichabod caught Pyrrha without issue, and she smiled brilliantly up at him as the poncho-bedecked man gazed down at her, only somewhat incredibly nervously because oh no, pretty girl smiling at him, what do. Hjøphiël and Weiss were just silently staring at each other, unmoving and unblinking, as nobody else was willing to pair with either of them and thus the spares were paired.  
  
Samael’s reply of “Bite me, T-dog” was immediately drowned out by the sound of heavy footsteps as Peter Port stormed over to where the edgy duo were standing and laying, respectively.  
  
“Nah,” the blond replied as he fell backwards, the rabbit-eared Faunus catching him, a look of intense focus in her brown eyes. He shot her a grateful thumbs up as she pushed him back to his feet.  
  
“Miss Belladonna!” Port exclaimed, fists planted firmly on his hips and eyebrows so far up his face that his eyes were actually visible for a change. “You did not even make the slightest _effort_ to catch Mister Obsidian! Nervousness I can understand,” he gestured at Hjøphiël and Weiss, “but at least Miss Schnee and Mister Vanta are willing to work up the courage to try!” he declared as the pair continued to stand as still as unmoving statues.  
  
Port frowned at Blake as Samael quietly got to his feet and returned his hat to his head. “Your body language, however, shows me quite clearly that you had _no_ intention of catching Mister Obsidian, despite him so graciously putting his safety and wellbeing in your no-doubt capable hands. What do you have to say for yourself?’  
  
“I-I-” Blake looked around in a panic, brow furrowing as her mind worked overtime to come up with an excuse. “I’m concerned about his Semblance!” She declared as her gaze settled on Weiss, distinctly recalling the entire incident between her and HITS.  
  
As Port’s gaze now moved to Samael, the resident serpent gave a grimace. “Not entirely unfair, considering I haven’t actually explained it.” He pinched the material of his belt-coat between two fingers. “That being said, you don’t need to worry about that. While my control of it is not yet perfect, my coat would prevent any of my Semblance’s... _constructs_ from getting on you, unless you were planning on catching me by the head.”  
  
Blake blinked at the reptilian fellow, her brow falling as she considered his assertion with narrowed eyes. “Wait, why would your coat prevent your Semblance from affecting me?”  
  
“Simple,” Samael replied. “The constructs made by my Semblance are made of my cells and consume any non-living matter to replicate themselves—any non-living matter, that is, except for one another. Thus, they can’t consume my cells, living or otherwise, to replicate.”  
  
He brushed at the glittering black scales of his coat, causing it to billow out behind him. “Just whose snakeskin do you think this is made of, Kali?”  
  
There was a long, pregnant beat, everyone within earshot falling dead silent and staring wordlessly at Samael, then at his trenchcoat.  
  
Then with a start, Blake suddenly leapt practically out of her boots and with shocking grace, landed on one of the wall-mounted light fixtures a few metres off the ground, a high-pitched string of “Ew, ew, ew, ew,” erupting from the startled catgirl’s grimacing lips, practically hugging the wall as she attempted to create distance between herself and Samael’s coat of man flesh. _“Ew ew ew ew ew!_ ” she continued in a highly distressed tone as she cringed and whined.  
  
An affronted look on his face, Samael gazed around at everyone recoiling from him. “What? It’s cost-effective and way better than just shitting out dickmaggots everywhere whenever I relax!”  
  
“Bruh,” a random member of the class said in response to Samael’s attempted self-defence that just made everything so much worse.  
  
“Dude, that’s like the equivalent of someone revealing they’ve been wearing a knitted sweater made of their own hair!” Jaune cried out at the revelation, his expression one of pain and horror. “You didn’t have to tell everyone that!”  
  
“That’s _awesome!_ ” Nora proclaimed from the back, thoroughly enthused by the idea of wearing a coat made from the flesh of a still-living organism.  
  
“Poverty’s an asshole and so am I, Arc. And thank you, Nora.” Samael replied, piss-yellow eyes quickly filling with weariness.  
  
Trent and his partner had paused, the latter resting in the former’s hands as she’d just fallen back. A worried look in her eyes as they travelled to meet his, and she murmured, “You, you haven’t touched it, right?”  
  
“Not in a few weeks, and I wash my hands religiously,” the blond answered, which only seemed to mildly mollify her.  
  
Weiss, meanwhile, had her eyes fixated on Blake, who was still perched up on a light fixture, grimacing at the young man who was wearing a coat made of his own skin and furrowed her brow, jabbing a finger up at her. “Kali! What do you think you’re doing!?” She moved to take a few stomping, scandalized steps forward. “Get down from there this instant, stop acting like a wild animaAAH-” at which point she tripped over someone’s wayward bag, her long white side-tail momentarily billowing out behind her as she arched towards the floor.  
  
Before she ate shit, Hjøphiël reflexively reached out and caught her in the crook of his arm with a light “Whoop,” and his eyes widened in horror upon realizing he’d just grabbed Weiss.  
  
There were a few moments as the pair processed what just happened, Weiss’ face whipping around to meet Hjøphiël’s gaze, and they stared at each other in mounting awkward silence at the unexpected contact.  
  
Yang let out a long wolf-whistle from where she was practically cradling a larger male student in a princess carry, the burly figure covering his face in embarrassment at having been effortlessly swept off his feet by the bodacious blonde. “Nice catch, Crazy Horse! Nice well-trained stallion you’ve got there, Schnee!”  
  
“TRAITOR!” Jaune cried out, bodily dropping the pretty younger girl who had previously fallen into his arms and started fluttering her eyelashes at him to jab an accusatory finger out at him. “ _REDDING_!”  
  
“HEY, DON’T COMPARE HIM TO SAINT SILVER’S TRAITOROUS DISCIPLE, JAUNE!” Ruby cried out in genuine offence, the little would-be-nun actually glowering at the taller blond. “THAT’S SACRILEGE!”  
  
Trent and his partner shared another look, and the blond let out an explosive sigh. “I swear my team is fucking cursed or something.”  
  
Ignoring the byplay that was occurring, Port immediately zeroed in on the sight of Weiss being caught in Hjøë’s arm. “SPLENDID!” Port trumpeted. “ This is _precisely_ what I was talking about! Crossing team boundaries and mending damaged bridges; _this_ is what it means to be a Hunter!”  
  
He tilted his head back to look admonishingly up at Blake, who was still balancing atop a light fixture. “Take note of this, Miss Belladonna, and learn from it. Certainly, Mister Obsidian’s apparel is,” Port paused for a moment, brow furrowing thoughtfully, “ _unorthodox_ , but different circumstances and walks of life may necessitate choices that many might think unnatural. Why, when I was a boy…”  
  
Meanwhile, Ichabod had set Pyrrha back on her feet after taking a calming breath for the express purpose of getting the opportunity to be caught by her in turn. All of his nervousness had faded and made way for childish excitement, his smile widening into a broad, toothy grin as he plummeted down to the ground only to be caught in the Mistralian redhead’s strong limbs, giggling contentedly in her arms.  
  
Pyrrha, meanwhile, was unperturbed by Ichabod’s sudden excitement to be caught by her, the redhead was mostly just too distracted by all the attention her crush was giving to the Schnee girl despite her best attempts to catch his eye. “I’m right here y’know, Jaune…”  
  
Still in her arms, Ichabod glanced at her face and saw the clear but distant longing in her eyes. "Dense fellow, isn't he?"  
  
Pyrrha just grumbled, her delicate lips warbling in bitter annoyance, a low whine building in the back of her throat as she started to absent-mindedly squeeze Ichabod from frustration, and continued squeezing, and squeezed, and squeezed harder and _harder_.  
  
Completely unaware of how Ichabod was desperately attempting to break free, the breath being crushed from his lungs a vice-like reverse bear hug.  
  
"I-I could try to help-!" Ichabod wheezed out as he pawed weakly at the ceiling, struggling for air even as he wasted what precious little he had left. "Just gotta-take the right approach-jesusletgoletgoletgo!"  
  
“Ah-” Pyrrha blinked and suddenly released Ichabod, letting a harsh cry of “I’m sorry!” even as he fell straight onto the floor with a low thump. “I- I’m sorry, you’ll help with what?” she asked as she gazed down at the prone figure.  
  
Ichabod proceeded to point at the blond goober the girl was _obviously into_ as he took strangled breaths. The girl took a step back and lowered her head, blushing and looking embarrassed.  
  
When the Vacuan man finally caught his breath, he leapt to his feet in a single motion and dusted off his poncho. "Eh, maybe we can talk about it later if you need to, let's continue the exercise for now."  
  
“A-all right,” Pyrrha let out a shuddering sigh, now pointedly not looking directly at Jaune, who was currently being easily held back from advancing on Hjøphiël by a very put-upon and defeated Ren. “I, um,” she glanced around, seeming to look for something else to talk about. “Uh, I, strange, how team ALSD never actually followed up on their threat…”  
  
"Wait, threat? What the what?" Ichabod quirked an eyebrow. "Ok, this I gotta hear, what happened?"  
  
“Oh, about a week ago three members of Team ALSD… made a scene in the gymnasium as I was attempting to proposition Hjøphiël, Trent, and Yang for sparring. They,” she motioned out over the guys and lass in question, “stood up for me, and ALSD challenged us, said they were going to arrange a team duel against us with professor Goodwitch.” A moment passed, and she shrugged. “But, nothing has occurred since then.”  
  
She looked around to catch sight of the opposing team in question and blinked in mild surprise.  
  
“Strange, their team leader, Alcibia is not here. Is he not meant to attend this class with the rest of his team?”  
  
\---  
  
Alcibia walked down the shadowed back streets of Vale, drawing the strings on his hoodie tighter, masking his richly curled pink ringlets. Normally, he’d never consider hiding his glorious mane from the deserving crowds, moreover, he’d go out of his way to offer to allow the beautiful common women and hunky common man to run their fingers through the locks and get an idea of how tight of a _grip_ they afforded - but not right now, it was made perfectly clear the last time he ventured into the slums that he need remain inconspicuous.  
  
The notion almost made him wish to cast himself from the cliffs facing Vale, to deny himself the rapturous ecstasy the came from drinking in attention from the masses, but he needed coin to fund his _revelling_ , and what better way than to offer those same masses but a fraction of the euphoria their grasping and wandering hands gave him, even if only through chemical means?  
  
Pausing in front of the solid iron door marked with a small sticker, depicting a bowler hat, Alcibia smiled gregariously. This was the place. He reached up, and knocked once, twice, then four rapid raps followed, and finished with the final few notes of the Pumpkin Pete’s jingle.  
  
A moment passed, and the eye slot was unlocked and slid open. A soft pair of emerald eyes glowered out to meet Alcibia’s winning smile, an amused, little snort coming from beyond before the slide was shut, something like a box was slid out of the way, and the door swung open following a series of locks and barricades being removed.  
  
The room beyond was dark, only a few silhouettes visible with the light streaming in, as the door slammed shut, the man Alcibia was meeting with spoke, “What is it, kid? I got business to take care of, and meeting with you is kind of getting in the way.” Taking a moment, the figure then let out a harsh sigh as he gestured at the Beacon student’s motley. “Oh for… Didn’t I tell you to lay _low_? In what Vacuan shithole does pink and teal tiger stripes count as subtle?”  
  
Alcibia cast his arms out wide, grinning widely at his dealer’s remark. “It’s hiding my _gorgeous_ attention-grabbing features, isn’t it? What more could you ask of me before crossing the threshold into… unreasonable...” he trailed off as he reached up and tugged at the hem of the hood, then his eyes wandered aside to follow the distinctive click-clack of heels which confidently strode past him, a very tiny but _oh so very shapely_ little ravenette with her silken locks tied into twintails with adorable little white ribbons which would make for such _convenient_ handholds...  
  
The figure, masked in shadow as he was let out a noise as he turned to his conspirator, who had sidled up next to him. “He’s actually serious, isn’t he?” Receiving only an amused shrug in reply, Alcibia’s contact shook his head and remarked, “Fine, whatever, let’s just get this meeting over with. I’ve pressing matters to attend to.”  
  
Alcibia clapped his hands together and presented a winning smile to the shadowy figure and his tiny, attention-grabbing compatriot. Oh how Alcibia could do with a portable _companion_ … “Well, to cut to the chase, my dearest and close personal friends, I require more of your finest product to fund my _dalliances_. I’m given to understand that your latest shipment was to arrive sometime this week?”  
  
“Do you _not_ watch the news?” The shadowed figure asked in turn, sounding incredibly exasperated as one of his fingers tapped against the armrest of his seat. “The whole shipment was seized, so I’m waiting on another avenue to deliver.”  
  
Alcibia’s smile fell harshly, and he actually _frowned_ , perish the thought of tarnishing his cherubic features so. “B-but I need- no, there must be some mistake, you don’t understand, I _need_ this, the world-famous Mistralian athlete Pyrrha Nikos is here - I was going to _entice_ her into partaking in my revelling! And I _need_ this even more since my idiot team went and offended the majestic Mistral Marvel and her _luxuriant flame-kissed hair_!”  
  
“Nikos?” the shadowed figure muttered, leaning over to his compeer as he asked, “Wasn’t she the one with that whole anti-drug campaign in Mistral?”  
  
Alcibia snorted, rolling his eyes and dismissively waving off the question. “And my father has promised to renovate Vale’s slums as a part of his political campaigning for six years in a row - individuals of _status_ do what they must to win the low-minded opinions of wastrels and peasants who’ve never opened their minds to the pleasures of the chemical _expansion_ ,” the pink-haired politician’s son declared as he spread his arms out wide again. “Miss Nikos will fall into my lap - and then my bed, _desperate_ for your premium product,” he smiled languorously, “and my premium _package_.”  
  
The twin-tailed figure looked to the spokesperson, who just shook his head. “Your wants don’t change the facts, Tweedledee, the shipment was snagged. It went poof in the night. It’s in Byebyeland.”  
  
“B-b-but…!” Alcibia reached up and gripped his own hair, knocking his hood off to reveal the tight curls of his head in the process. “No, that’s can’t- How else am I to entice her!? A woman of such grand accomplishment, she shan’t gaze in the direction of a pauper who can offer her nothing in exchange for her time!” he shook his head, eyes widening as his brow scrunched up and he considered his options carefully.  
  
“Kid, have you ever actually tried _talking_ to her? I’ve got it on good authority that people in general like people who just _speak_ with’em,” the shadowed figure remarked.  
  
Alcibia actually barked aloud at that, a single, deep belly laugh accompanying a shake of his head that sent his pink locks bouncing. “ _Please_ , don’t be absurd, I wouldn’t dare to insult that _goddess_ without placing a sufficient offering at her flawlessly sculpted feet first.” Setting a hand on his chin, still chuckling lowly to himself, the privileged young man nodded his head once. “I have a proposal for you, good sir. You require capital to move product and make deals with your good friends a hop and a skip across the sea, yes?”  
  
Not saying anything as they digested the first part of the statement, the shadowed figure perked up at Alcibia’s offer, sharing a look with their companion. “You know what, kid? That sounds peachy to me. I’d _love_ to-” The figure trailed off, searching for the appropriate idiom to use, “‘enter such a venture’ with you.”  
  
“If it will get your next shipment in quicker, and me in my _goddess’s_ good graces just as rapidly…” Alcibia shuddered, running his hands down his cheeks as he imagined the _bliss_ of Miss Nikos’ attention. “I would _eagerly_ invest in your endeavours.” Placing his hands around the back of his neck, he imagined the powerful arms of that statuesque athlete pinning him down and- “So we have an agreement, then?”  
  
“Sure! Why, you can even mosey down and inspect the next one yourself, how’s that sound, tiger?” Were it possible, the man’s smirk would’ve cut through the darkness, but instead, it was his chuckle that gave it away.  
  
“That sounds _rapturous,_ my dear friend,” Alcibia smiled widely, presenting a winning, gleaming white smile to his dealer, making a ‘call me’ gesture. “I’ll be in touch, my lovelies,” he finished, shooting a wink to the diminutive little short stack standing at his dealer’s side… which he followed up with a blown kiss before he wiggled his fingers in fair well, drawing his hood back over his neon pink ringlets before he about-faced and moved for the exit again. His departure signalled by the solid iron door clanging shut behind him.  
  
Once the consummate fuckboy had made his exit, the shadowed figure let out a deep, pained sigh. “Talking to that brat felt like brushing my teeth with a straight razor.” The man twisted his wrist _just so_ , a lighter and cigar appearing between his fingers. He lit the cigar and brought it to his lips, throwing light across his face. A fringe of carrot-orange hair peeked out from beneath a bowler hat, leaving exposed a single, well-mascaraed, acid-green eye.  
  
“Kids today, eh Neo?” Roman Torchwick bemoaned, before reaching into his pale white blazer and producing a small pink parasol that nonetheless could not have _possibly_ fit within the crimelord’s expertly tailored coat. He tossed it to his assistant, who smirked as she caught it and snapped it open.  
  
Her smirk disappeared when a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream tumbled impossibly out of her parasol and bonked her on the head. As Neopolitan’s form flickered from her dark-haired disguise to her usual pink, brown, and white ensemble, ice cream carton still balanced expertly on her head, she glared at Roman.  
  
“What?” Vale’s Highwayman asked arms spread wide. “I got your favourite!”


	20. Boom

Ichabod stepped into a familiar workshop, just as wide-open and spacious as it previously was - the concrete floors and flame-proof brick walls would have painted an almost oppressive atmosphere if not for the bright colouration of the paint used on the walls proper. Large power tools and an assortment of smaller hand tools littered the entire worksite, and somewhat surprisingly, the Vacuan man’s target wasn’t alone for once.  
  
“BUT HOW DO I MAKE THE EXPLOSION _BIGGER_!?” Nora whined with an exaggerated pout and full-body lurch as Ruby looked closely at the disassembled combination hammer/grenade launcher that the ginger-headed ethnically-Solitasian wielded in combat with incredible gusto.  
  
Ruby was tapping Nora’s weapon periodically with a small rubber mallet, for… some reason, and eventually just shrugged. “I dunno, explosions aren’t really my specialty, so I can’t really help with this. Sorry, but could I go now? Yang’s still waiting for me outside.”  
  
Across from the pair at the same workbench, Ren simply performed basic maintenance on his pistols, pausing only to brush a hot pink dyed strand of hair from his otherwise jet black mane.  
  
Ichabod smiled widely as he saw the group. "Oh _boy_ , did I hear someone say _explosions!?_ " He called out from across the room, cheerily approaching with a hop and a skip.  
  
At the declaration of the word ‘explosion’ from an unknown source, Nora immediately leapt up on the workbench and started scanning the otherwise quiet shop with a joyous exclamation of: “ _Who said explosions!? I love explosions! The bigger the better!_ ” she started greedily rubbing her hands together with enough speed and forced that it almost looked like she might generate a spark- then a number of sparks fell from her open palms as she spread them out wide upon catching sight of Ichabod. “ _ICHY!”_  
  
In a burst of cinnamon-scented air, Ichabod found himself with the blue-eyed girl’s arm cast over his shoulders and drawn incredibly close to her, a gust of wind momentarily causing his poncho to billow out behind them.  
  
“ _Do you want to talk about explosions?_ ” She asked with a wide, nearly unhinged grin.  
  
 _"Heck yeah, I wanna talk about explosions!"_ The Vacuan shitlord replied with a smile of his own as he also put his own arm over her shoulder. " _What do you need for your boom boom needs, my friend, big boom, bigger boom, or potentially illegal boom?_ "  
  
“ _ **YES.**_ ” Came Nora’s one-word response as she scooped Ichabod up into a bridal carry, bolted back for the workbench, and dumped him atop it with a loud crash of tools scattering and plunging from the worktop to brashly clang and clatter on the bomb-proof floors before shifting into an excited hop atop her toes. “ _Teachmeyourwaysshowmehowtosettheworldonfiresensei!_ ”  
  
The man cackled manically all the way through, despite the girl's roughhousing. "Very well, my student! Present to me your current setup for your explosions, so that we might make them _bigger!_ " He declared with an overexaggerated and poor imitation of professor Port's boisterous, booming voice.  
  
Aside from them, Ruby set her rubber mallet down, leaned across the table, and in what was effectively a stage-whisper, asked Ren with a nervous chuckle. “Do you suddenly feel like we’re in a lot more danger too?”  
  
Ren just blankly stared through the little lass’s eyes and into the aether. His expression unchanging even as the light faded from his eyes and he let out a long, utterly defeated sigh. “Well, considering there are two of them now…” The Mistralian continued cleaning the slides of his pistols, far more fatigued than he had been before Ichabod entered the scene.  
  
Meanwhile, Nora had shoved her weapon into Ichabod’s arms and pressed a Dust grenade into his face, or under his nose to be more specific. “His name is Magnhild and I went with 40mm grenades because they’re the most common while still producing an adequate explosion size but I want there to be _more_ explosion when I launch them because sometimes Grimm get _reeeeeaaaalllly_ big and I want the explosion that hits them to be just as big because if the explosion is big enough it’ll destroy the huge monster and spew its **HUGE GUTS** everywhere!”  
  
Ichabod nodded along and hummed as she continued her long sentence before wriggling his fingers and grabbing the grenade before carefully disassembling it and pouring the Dust inside slowly so as to not disturb it. The Vacuan grabbed a nearby lamp and magnifying glass to take a good look.  
  
"Hmm, it's all fire Dust, yes?" He mused as he carefully touched the refined grains of eruptive crystal.  
  
“That’s how you make incendiary booms, _duh_ ,” Nora rolled her eyes like a total teenaged girl and did the exaggerated slumping motion that tended to accompany such a declaration.  
  
" _Ah, but you see!_ " Ichabod declared loudly as he raised a finger and turned to Nora "This can only get you a boom as big as however much Dust you can pack inside the shell. If you want a bigger boom like this, then you have to get more finely refined Dust, and that's expensive, riiiiight?"  
  
Nora reared back, letting out a loud, wide-mouthed groan as her pupils migrated to the corner of her eyes and her arms fell limply at her sides, thoroughly displeased with the suggestion.  
  
"However, if you mix just a _teensy-weensy but ever so slight, little tiny_ _bit_ of wind Dust in there, then suddenly, you get a _bigger boom!_ " Ichabod declared with a wild smile. "And the more you add, the bigger it gets!"  
  
“Why didn’t you just open with that-” Ren started tiredly, only to be harshly cut off by Nora leaping on the workbench again and looming over Ichabod with frenzied hunger in her eyes, making desperate grabbing motions at him.  
  
“ _Give wind Dust, NOW,_ ” the ginger-haired girl in the frilly skirt with bright pink highlights animalistically demanded of the bespectacled Vacuan.  
  
"Now now, I'm not a Dust vending machine, and _besides-!_ "  
  
Nora lunged and grabbed Ichabod by the collar of his shirt and poncho, drawing him in close and practically hissing at him, “ _GIVE, DUST, NOW!_ ” She _really_ wanted her bigger booms.  
  
"Question!" Ichabod said as he raised a hand as the ginger shook him down for Dust like it was lunch money. "At what point is the size of the boom better than the _power_ of the boom? Because first, you gotta find the sweet spot, otherwise, you're just making a wind Grenade."  
  
“But _boo-oo-oooom!_ ” Nora whined pitifully, a rictus of agony and pain finding purchase on her button features, the vestiges of tears budding in the corners of her eyes.  
  
“You brought this on yourself,” Ren just quietly informed the Vacuan wearily as he finished assembling his guns and gave them a flourishing twirl to punctuate a job well done.  
  
"Patience, Disciple of Boom, for you will get the biggest of booms, but only after you learn _just how much_ Dust is the right amount. " Ichabod chuckled as he picked himself up and came down from the table. "If you want to learn my ways and know how to set the world on fire, then you need to learn the instructions by heart, otherwise the boom will be less impressive."  
  
Nora continued to whine as Ren sighed and piped up again. “Patience, Nora,” he instructed her simply enough.  
  
Surprisingly, that seemed to do the job, as she deflated and dropped back off the workbench, slumped down, crossed her arms on the surface of the table, and plopped her jaw into them, pouting with narrowed eyes of annoyance as she did as instructed by her not!boyfriend.  
  
Thus, granting Ichabod the time he needed to do what needed to be done, going over to the other side of the room, where he asked the clerk in charge of the workshop, who looked at him with a bored, unimpressed expression before handing over some refined wind Dust. The Vacuan poured in the sand-like crystal grains in layers, thirty-five percent wind, sixty-five percent fire, (or one third, two thirds, at Nora's insistence).  
  
At least as far as he knew, with the materials he knew about, that was going to get the _biggest_ possible explosion. He grouched and complained about how his attempt to use Gravity Dust once to make an even bigger blast, failed as the reaction combined the three elements in a way that just made it a massive cloud of ash and smoke.  
  
He completed the grenade and presented it proudly to the ginger-haired girl, which was, somehow, immediately followed up by Nora launching that same grenade at a random wall.  
  
Everything seemed to move in slow motion, Ren’s expression falling into one of uncharacteristic wide-eyed abject horror, watching the grenade soar through the air with a plume of pink smoke trailing behind it…  
  
Only for the grenade to be suddenly knocked aside towards an open second-story window with a burst of flower petals, arcing out the building and producing an explosion on the other side of the wall which, aside from causing the windows nearest the boom to shatter, also caused the farther windows to crack under the pressure wave generated by the airburst.  
  
Ruby landed on her feet from where she kicked the grenade out the open window, her features twisted in a thoroughly disconcerted expression as she just _stared_ at Ichabod and Nora.  
  
“Holy heck, that was _awesome!_ ” Nora proclaimed as she thrust her grenade launcher into the air above her head and let out a rancorous laugh even as the Dust clerk watched on in horror at what had just happened.  
  
Then, the door on that same side of the building practically blew open, Yang, who had been just hanging out in front of the workshop waiting for Ruby to finish, stumbled in, covered in soot coughing and wheezing as she declared “Holy shit, what the fuck was _that!?_ ”  
  
“Swear jar!” Nora proclaimed as she withdrew the jar in question and presented it to a completely baffled and disoriented Yang she’d just practically lobbed a live explosive at, not even the barest hint of regret or sympathy on her delicate features.  
  
Meanwhile, Ichabod proceeded to groan and die inside as he realized just what he had enabled by being a happy little nugget brain and letting himself get swept up in the excitement.  
  
" _Ooooooooh, ffffffff..._ " He clutched his head with his hands and got into a fetal position, swaying back and forth under Ruby and Ren's scrutinizing gazes. " _No I don't wanna foot the bill, I don't wanna foot the bill. I had just gotten my first paycheck and a raise and this is what I do, oh nooo._ "  
  
In the background, the Dust clerk rose their Scroll to their face, and after a few moments of a dull ringing emanating from it, a familiar voice came from the device’s speakers. “Please don’t tell me that the students just proved professor Goodwitch right,” Ozpin pleaded by way of greeting.  
  
\---  
  
Ozpin stared at the four students, his fingers interlocked where they rested atop his desk, Glynda at his side, glaring furiously at Ichabod, Ren, Ruby, and Nora, her wilting gaze practically harsh enough to melt iron.  
  
Yang, meanwhile, was forced to go to the medical wing because she was caught in an explosion, regardless of her protesting about her Aura having absorbed the worst of it.  
  
After a few moments, Nora spoke up. “In our defence, the explosion was _really_ cool!” She asserted pointedly, almost childishly.  
  
Ozpin just emotionlessly _stared_ at Nora for a few moments as Glynda’s glare hyper fixated on the little ginger girl, her riding crop protesting audibly as her grip on it intensified with each passing second.  
  
“Well, there goes my chances to get you out of this,” Ozpin shrugged as he leaned back in his seat and took a sip of his coffee. “As you will, Professor Goodwitch.”  
  
The sound of a thundercrack and a wooden shelf being cleanly split in two by a supersonic riding crop for sheer emphasis punctuated the domineering woman with the stern librarian aesthetic striding forth with furious intent. Each step was further accentuated by each thunderous click-clack of her high heels, beelining cleanly for Nora in particular.  
  
Nora’s inarticulate, incredibly nasally and comical screams could be most accurately likened to those of a dying giraffe to the entirety of the school that day.  
  
\---  
  
Ruby and Ichabod sat in the field outside of the Headmaster’s office, both thoroughly traumatized by what they’d witnessed up there and how Nora had somehow only managed to make the entire situation worse for herself with each passing moment in which she’d opened her mouth. On the one hand, Ren, Ichabod, and Ruby had gotten off without being whipped with a riding crop even once. On the other hand, Nora’s particular brand of thick-headedness introduced to them the concept of a truly frenzied Glynda Goodwitch.  
  
The two couldn’t believe they thought they’d seen the worst of her accidental innuendo prior to that.  
  
After several minutes, Ruby coughed into her hand and piped up. “So… there was something you wanted to talk to me about, Ichabod?” She asked in a desperate attempt to get their minds off of Super Dominatrix Glynda.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did!" He nodded and scratched at the hair on the back of his head. "I just kinda got wrapped up in the excitement and one thing led to another and, uh… _yeah, that happened._ "  
  
Ichabod took in air sharply and slapped his cheeks to focus.  
  
"Right, so! I actually got my first paycheck and I went and cashed it in!" The Vacuan nuggie exclaimed excitedly as he dug around his faded poncho. "I'm actually getting a pretty good amount of lien and I should be able to pay you for all the work you did on Adios Arenas by, what, the end of the semester? Little bit before actually."  
  
He took out his hand, around five cards bundled together clasped between his thumb and his index before extending them towards the tiny Huntress-in-training "'ere you go!"  
  
Ruby blinked and eyeballed the lien cards for a few awkward seconds, then remarked with a small chuckle, “Oh, right, I forgot about that… you don’t need to worry about it, Ichabod. I didn’t fix Amigo Ananas for money.”  
  
"Well, yeah, it wasn't for the money, I could tell," he said with a shrug, knowing it was because _holy shit, his weapon was an affront to weaponsmiths everywhere outside Vacuo_ , but he didn't need to remind her of that. "Still, I'd feel bad if I didn't pay you back, especially after the money came out of _your_ pocket to fix it."  
  
Ruby’s lips were drawn into a thin line and she shook her head before responding. “It’s okay, it’s not like we’re poor or anything. You don’t need to pay me for anything, Ichabod.”  
  
"No, no, really. Don't be modest and take it. It's..." Ichabod winced and scratched at his cheek with his other hand. "Like, you remember that time at the lockers just before the initiation, right? I already told you there, it's a _thing_ for me. It really wouldn't sit well with me if I didn't pay you back, even though you never expected anything in return. I mean, heck, I also set aside lien to pay Samael for the Dust he gave me that time too, and _he's_ my direct teammate. If I don't do it as soon as possible, well how's that any dif-"  
  
He bit his tongue to stop himself, looking off to the side and lowering his hands. After a few seconds, he gave a heavy sigh and continued. "Listen, I am gonna worry about it until you take it, if you don't wanna take it as payment, then just think of it as a gift, yeah? Maybe buy some high-quality bullets for Crescent Rose, some tools or supplies you're running low on, something like that?"  
  
Ruby was completely silent for a time, eventually, with her features drawn into a heavy frown, she reached out and took the cards, muttering “A gift, huh?” looking at the lien cards before she slumped down where she sat, looking utterly crestfallen now before noting under her breath, mournfully, “Like Adios Arenas was supposed to be…?”  
  
Ichabod felt a weight lift off his shoulders just as he felt a new one settle on them; if he hadn't given her the money, the anxiety would keep building up further and further, but he knew he fucked up and couldn't take it back. Too late for that, too late for damage control.  
  
What a fucking mess.  
  
And so the two returned to sitting in awkward, uncomfortable silence, but for an entirely different reason compared to a scant five minutes prior.


	21. Dinner and a Show

“Whoo, boy howdy!” Jaune proclaimed as he slammed back his entire glass of milk, leaving a prominent white milkstache on his upper lip even as he continued to pant. “These hot wings taste like molten iron or something!” the handsomest boy proclaimed even as he fanned his tongue and panted like an overworked dog.  
  
As it was nearing the end of the semester and their overall grades were doing well, Hjøphiël and Jaune had decided to treat themselves to dinner, and as Jaune had oh-so-boorishly called it, ‘a show,’ and thus proceeded to Mrs. Popout’s to celebrate - despite the fact that they were actually regulars and went there basically every other day by that point.  
  
Meanwhile, as Jaune barely tolerated his mild wings, Hjøphiël continued casually eating his jerk chicken, which he was supremely happy to discover was on the menu hidden on a secret sliding panel this entire time. He’d missed spicy foods so much, Atlas was full of a bunch of starving lightweights that could barely handle black pepper.  
  
God bless Mrs. Popout’s and her juicy thighs.  
  
“Okay! Okay, I’m good, I’m good,” the gangly blond asserted as he leaned back in his booth seat, noted how casually Hjøphiël was enjoying his own meal and chuckled under his breath. “Got yourself something with a bit less kick, huh? That’s okay, not everyone can take the heat, _mi amigo_ ,” Jaune made finger-guns at the Atlesian, grinning in smug self-satisfaction.  
  
Hjøphiël was normally a kind, patient, and magnanimous man, but, at that moment, as he finished relishing his current mouthful of jerk chicken, he swallowed it, lightly tore a small section of the thigh, including the skin, and presented it to the aggressively white boy. “I think you’ll enjoy this mild flavour, actually.”  
  
Jaune chuckled and shrugged. “Well, I mean, if you’re offering buddy-” he replied as he pinched the strip of meat between his fingers, dropped it into his mouth and bit down once.  
  
Hjøphiël watched all the colour fade from Jaune’s skin and his eyes damn near pop out of their sockets. A muffled scream could be heard coming from the back of his throat, and the Valite bumpkin nearly tore the booth’s table from its foundations in the diner’s floor as he scrambled to his feet and dead-sprinted past Jessica and into the back of the restaurant, cries of “ _MILK! MIIIILK!_ ” announcing his departure.  
  
A familiar head of stark white and crimson descended upon the treacherous Atlesian, delicate brows furrowed in disappointment and chastisement. “Now, that was just plumb rude, Hjøëy!” Stacy asserted as she leaned forward and wagged her finger before his nose. “That poor little nuggie can’t hold his spice the way a big strong lunk like you can!”  
  
Hjøphiël, in response, smugly bit off another mouthful of his jerk chicken and savoured the spice. By god did he enjoy his heat. Did his still being able to handle heat mean that he was definitely still an ethnic?  
  
Only a few seconds after, the boy was flung back out with an ear-piercing squeak, landing on the floor while he began to turn red.  
  
"Oi, what's the big idea, huh? You tryin' to corner one of my girls or somethin'?"  
  
The Atlesian was treated to the sight of a stocky, powerful dark-skinned old lady with curly grey locks in a yellow dress and apron looming menacingly over Jaune, rolling pin in one hand, slamming it against her other with a thunderous, hefty clap before she moved it back. A shotgun cock rang out through the shop and a pair of shotgun shells flew back next to her face.  
  
Jaune looked up in horror and awe at the sight he beheld. Then in a pitiful voice, remembering that his mouth was currently a warzone, he whined, “ _Milk?_ ” in a strained voice.  
  
"Well, boy you ain't getting any 'milkers' today," the powerful older woman scoffed. "You kids'll call the old sacks anything nowadays." The woman took a step forward and aimed the tip of the rolling pin at the spice-overwhelmed white boy, the handle propping up like a hinged lid to reveal a barrel and a laser sight. "Now, out! Out with you or so help me-!"  
  
At that moment, a new voice broke in. “What's all - I say, what's all the whoopin' and hollerin about, Mrs. Popout?”  
  
The owner of the voice ambled out of the kitchen right behind the brick shithouse of a woman in question, brushing flour-covered hands against an apron that matched hers. He was a contrasting figure to Mrs. Popout: where she was built, he was scrawny, and where she had a head full of hair, the only thing on his head was a bright red rooster crown, with a wattle to match dangling from his neck.  
  
"Well Mr. Popout, this boy here just went and barged right into the back, and you know what that means." She replied, the kitchen utensil/weapon still trained on the boy who was rolling on the floor, sweat pouring out onto the floor in rivulets.  
  
Mr. Popout squinted at the now crimson-faced Jaune through grimy spectacles, hands planted firmly on bony hips that could practically be seen through his khakis. “Now hold - I say, hold on there, Mrs. Popout-”  
  
"Hold on there nothin', Mr. Popout!" The woman flicked the rolling pin down, closing the lid before aiming it towards the man's chin and staring him down furiously. "You know what happened last time, and I ain't standing for that for even a second! No one touches my girls without putting a ring on em' first!"  
  
“Mrs. Popout!” Stacy slid into the conversation, leaning forth with her back arching upwards, her tail feathers standing up in agitation. “He ain’t do nothin’ wrong! He’s just a ‘lil nuggie that can’t hardly handle the mild wings, and Hjøëy tricked the poor thing into mackin’ on the jerk chicken!” She had the most aggressively put-upon teenaged girl whining to her mother look ever on her face. “He’s just beggin’ for some milk to stop the burning!”  
  
 _“Milk…”_ Jaune piteously begged from the floor, sweat pouring from his forehead in great dollops now. Likely exacerbated by the fact that he’d never spit the piece of jerk chicken out of his mouth at any point.  
  
“That's what I've been - I say, that's what I've been telling you, Mrs. Popout!” exclaimed Mr. Popout, waggling a finger at his wife, who had a put-upon expression on her face.  
  
As Stacy ran into the kitchen to fetch Jaune some more milk, the gangly Faunus turned to the rest of the restaurant (who’d been staring at the scene for quite some time now) and stage-whispered, “Y’all’l have to forgive her. Mrs. Popout's a nice lass, but about as sharp as a sack of wet mice when it comes to her girls.”  
  
At that, Mrs. Popout wound up and bonked her husband on the head with her rolling-pin/shotgun, then huffed and walked back towards the kitchen.  
  
Undeterred, Mr. Popout cheekily called after her, “Now what, I say, what's the big idea bashing me on the noggin' with the Drumstick? This ain't the place - I say, this ain't the place for foreplay!”  
  
\---  
  
As Hjøphiël waited for Jaune to finish ‘cleaning up’ in the bathroom, the clock ticked over, and the workday was done. Everyone else left the restaurant in an orderly fashion, while the scarved brunet simply stood by the washroom doors, waiting for his gangly companion to finish drying his tears and wiping his face clean of spice sweat.  
  
Eventually, he noticed one of the girls, Lisa, another bird Faunus step out of the back, dressed in normal street clothes. She waved and smiled when she noticed Hjøphiël still waiting as he was, and proceeded to… stop and just stand in front of the exit door, pulling out her scroll and clicking away at it.  
  
A few minutes passed before another girl joined her. Then another, and yet one more, all gathering up in front of the exit and just… mingling there, inexplicably.  
  
After the restaurant had been closed for a good twenty minutes, and most of its employees were just standing in front of the exit rather than leaving, he got curious and decided to amble over and see what was going on.  
  
Only to be cut off by Stacy emerging from the back last, stripped out of her usual uniform and instead wearing a simple sleeveless shirt, somewhat less tight denim short shorts, and regular sneakers. She chirped in surprise when the swinging door nearly hit Hjøphiël and caused him to yelp, then let out a sigh of relief when he was clearly unharmed. “Oh, sorry Hjøë, I didn’t see you there,” she declared in a completely normal, neutral Valite accent.  
  
That made the Atlesian blink in surprise. “Bwuh- where’d your accent go?” he asked in naked confusion.  
  
“My-” Stacy started, blinking owlishly before lightly chuckling to herself. “Did you think that I actually talk like that normally? That’s just the character I put on for the restaurant, silly. To sell the whole ‘family restaurant’ feel with Mr. and Mrs. Popout.”  
  
At that moment, Hjøphiël heard Mr. Popout’s voice from an open side window as he hollered, “I say, Mrs. Popout, you didn’t forget to switch off the fryer again, didja?! Ain’t nobody got time for anotha’ grease fire!”  
  
"That was _one time,_ Mr. Popout! I suh-wear!" The woman yelled back with the same volume. "Y' do it once and y'never let go!"  
  
At the marital bickering occurring between the two lovebirds went on in the background, Stacy grinned in amusement and shrugged. “Mr. and Mrs. Popout, on the other hand, are actually from the countryside, I’m sure you can tell.”  
  
Hjøphiël glanced at the backroom window leading to the kitchens and shrugged himself. “Fair enough,” he declared before motioning to the girls that were all gathered up in front of the exit. “What’s going on with this?”  
  
Stacy glanced over and her shoulders slumped somewhat as she replied. “Yeah, that, we-”  
  
“Woo boy, everybody stay outta there for fifteen minutes!” Jaune proclaimed as he stepped out of the scentless bathroom, waving his hand over his face in a naked attempt to hide the fact that he was only in there for so long because he was trying to mask the fact that the jerk chicken had made him cry. “Did a real number on- oh hey, what’s happening here?” he asked when he noticed Hjøphiël and Stacy, out of her uniform, talking while the rest of the girls employed by the restaurant chattered by the exit. “The place has been closed for a while now, hasn’t it?”  
  
“-As I was saying to Hjøë,” Stacy continued, reaching up to adjust her ponytail. “There’s been a bit of a spike in crime, so we’ve all started walking home in one big group, to deter anyone from preying on one lone pretty Faunus girl, y’know?” despite the implications, she didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the apparent necessity of their plan, mostly sounding worn down as she relayed it to the two Huntsmen-in-training.  
  
“That’s- wait, what happened to your accent-?” Jaune started, eyebrows popping up before he was interrupted.  
  
“Jaune, focus,” Hjøphiël jabbed a finger at the approaching blond. “You all need to travel in one pack to stay safe now?”  
  
“Well, yeah, that’s just kinda the way it is,” Stacy said, all of the manic pixie energy she gave off while working gone, and in its place was a low-key weariness that seemed to pervade her every word. “We all live in the same building anyway, so it’s not a huge deal. Just… kind of annoying for the girls that usually get changed faster than the others, is all.”  
  
Jaune popped an eyebrow at that, rubbing his chin before snapping his fingers. “Ah! You all share a house, then? That must make for some wild times! Is it a big place? I bet you all save a lot of money only needing one TV,” he declared with a satisfied grin.  
  
The weary mascot girl just gave him a tired smile as she responded. “Well, even though Mr. and Mrs. Popout pays us real generously, no, we all just live in the same apartment building is all.”  
  
“Oooh, so since you all make good money, you all got apartments in one of the _upscale_ flats then, right?” Jaune wiggled his eyebrows at her, seemingly impressed by the suggestion that the girls were well-off.  
  
Stacy was looking increasingly tired by the minute. “No, it’s… it’s just that that’s the one kinda decent apartment complex that’ll accept tenants of, well, y’know,” she glanced back over her shoulder as if to look at her distinctive tail feathers for a moment before shrugging and looking back at the two boys. “ _Our kind_.”  
  
Jaune blinked, cocked his head at her, and said, “...Pretty girls-?”  
  
At which point a loud smack resounded out as Hjøphiël reached up and slapped Jaune across the back of the head. “They’re staying in the least bad apartment that will tolerate _non-human_ tenants, you dolt,” the brunet declared with _considerable_ bemusement.  
  
Jaune had yelped and hissed in pain and annoyance, then rapidly ceased and stared at Hjøphiël with eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Wait, what- what is that supposed to mean? What does it matter if they aren’t human?”  
  
Stacy, for her part, just looked increasingly tired and like she wanted to just get a move on and leave. “Anyways, Hjøë, as I was saying, we’ve all started bunching up when walking home because our apartment building is located _just_ on the edge of the slums, so, while most of the walk back from work is fine…”  
  
“You’re all really pretty girls walking near the bad part of town on your own, right in the middle of a crime spike,” Hjøphiël finished with a frown.  
  
“Pretty Faunus girls the police don’t really care about looking after…” Stacy added, her smile becoming more and more strained and forced with each passing second. “Louanne unlocked her Aura a while back when she was mugged, so we’re all kind of mostly gathering around her in case something happens, but really, if someone decided to target us, we’d probably be helpless.”  
  
Jaune, meanwhile, had started staring at her really intensely as she spoke, his brow falling and his lips growing increasingly taut. “That’s- wait, but the police are supposed to protect people, why wouldn’t-”  
  
“Because despite being one of the better places for Faunus to live, racism is still really common in Vale,” Hjøphiël shook his head, becoming increasingly exasperated with Jaune’s ignorance.  
  
Jaune hesitated before he replied haltingly. “But, they’re just girls the same as any other, what does it matter that they’re Faunus…?” he asked in a strained voice, clearly upset by the entire notion.  
  
Stacy held up her hand to halt the conversation. “Look, the other girls have been waiting for me long enough as it is. I’ll, I suppose I’ll see you two around later, okay? We gotta get back before it gets too dark out.”  
  
At that, she turned and started towards the group that had grown quiet and started staring at the three, some looking annoyed, others concerned. However, Jaune called out again. “Wait! I’ll walk you all home! You’ll be a lot safer with a Huntsman escorting you, right?”  
  
That actually caused Stacy to come to a sudden stop mid-step, turning around to look at Jaune in surprise along with the rest of the girls. “You- wha-”  
  
“It isn’t right that the authorities don’t protect you!” Jaune proclaimed as his shoulders grew increasingly tense, his brow furrowing heavily and his hands balling. “So if they won’t, then I will! In fact, I’ll come here every day when your work is over from now on, even if I don’t buy anything! No way am I going to just, just stand back and do _nothing_!” His voice was uncharacteristically firm and heated, and the determined look he was giving the girls could almost be taken as a glare with how intense it was. “I have this,” he asserted as he grabbed from his hip his collapsible shield and sword, Crocea Mors, and brandished them both in a manner which couldn’t be described as anything less than heroically. “And I’ll damn well use them if I have to!”  
  
Needless to say, the girls were all visibly taken aback by his declaration, both because Jaune had, up until this point, been little other than a bit of a dumb, insensitive goon, but also because he was suddenly acting like a man with determination and purpose.  
  
“I say, you hear that Mrs. Popout?” Mr. Popout’s voice carried from within the chicken joint. “I done _told_ ya’ he was a good egg, but did ya’ listen to me? Eustace J. Popout’s nose is nevah wrong about these things!”  
  
"Now hold on a minute, don't get too big for your britches just because that boy picked himself back up." Mrs. Popout grouched loudly.  
  
Hjøphiël, meanwhile, had been giving Jaune a measured look, and after considering the taller blond for a few moments nodded his head in affirmation once before turning to all the girls as well. “I’ll help too. Sometimes one of us might be too busy to show up, but if we’re both coming by to walk y’all home when we can, that means you’ll always have at least one Huntsman looking out for you.”  
  
None of them seemed to know how to take this development, least of all Stacy, who was just staring wide-eyed at the pair, expression completely flat. “I- that’s, that’s so sweet of you two-”  
  
“It’s a Huntsman’s job to protect people, no matter their race!” Jaune asserted pointedly. “It’s the least we can do, and you all deserve at least that for being such great hosts here at the restaurant!”  
  
Stacy, along with the rest of the girls, smiled sheepishly at Jaune, as well as Hjøphiël despite his more muted intent to help. “Well, alright, we ought to get going then,” she declared as she motioned for the two to follow her.  
  
Though the girls were all giving the pair gazes of varying intensity, Hjøphiël was giving the majority of his attention to Jaune. He was honestly impressed. The armour-clad young man had struck him as something of a thick-headed dolt, but despite that, he also demonstrated that his heart was really in the right place, and that meant a lot.  
  
So, Hjøphiël reached out and lightly punched Jaune on the shoulder. Jaune glanced aside and preened at the proud grin Hjøphiël was giving him. For once, Hjohpiel allowed it, as Jaune had earned it.  
  
\---  
  
A few days later, the dorm room of Team HITS was surprisingly quiet, despite the group all being present. Ichabod was lying in his bed, quietly listening to music on his antique of a Scroll. Trent was occupying one of the desks, finishing off the last of the homework that Goodwitch had assigned for the Dust-casting elective. Hjøphiël was crouched on his bed, playing a game on his scroll.  
  
And finally, Samael was laying on his bed, bereft of both of his trenchcoats (which were currently occupying each of the Doomantler trophy’s antlers). He absently tossed a stress ball up in the air and caught it, bored to shit as his own scroll was currently charging.  
  
After one particular, misjudged toss bounced off his nose and rolled beneath one of the desks, the snake man sighed and slithered to his feet. When he stooped down to retrieve the stress ball, though, the panel of wood it was resting on pivoted downwards, causing him to overbalance and topple over with a crash, arm elbow-deep in the floor.  
  
Trent craned his around to look at his friend, and inquired, “You okay, chief?”  
  
“Smooth move, Ex-lax,” Hjøphiël declared, one of the few idioms from his old life he could accurately recall, on account of how often he used it back in Mantle despite himself.  
  
Ichabod merely glanced at his friend's way with a quirked eyebrow when he heard the commotion.  
  
Samael let out a grumble as he extricated his lanky arm from the apparent secret compartment that had been left in the floor. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Seems like someone vandalized the floor…Oi, Trent. Lend me your scroll for a second? Mine’s dead and I could use a flashlight.”  
  
Rather than answer vocally, the blond fished the device from his pocket and threw it at the Faunus.  
  
Samael, having expected such a maneuver, caught it handily with an absent “Thank you papa” and switched on the light app as he peered into the hole. After a moment of digging around in the compartment, his hand reemerged with a jet-black, leather-bound tome. Upon close inspection, the words “Dominion of BlackheaRt NeveRmoRe” could be seen to have been scratched into the leather, likely with a knife if Samael had to guess.  
  
After passing Trent his scroll, Samael flipped the book open, curiosity outweighing any sense of privacy he might’ve considered.  
  
Almost immediately, he regretted his decision, his face screwing up in disgust as though he’d just swallowed a live cockroach. “Bruh.”  
  
"What is it?" Ichabod asked, pausing his music and taking off his earbuds as he looked upon the countenance of grim abhorrence his friend was making.  
  
“It seems,” Samael grit out through the deep and personal agony he was experiencing in that moment, “that this ‘BlackheaRt NeveRmoRe’ person fancied themselves a poet.” He let out a tremulous sigh. _“I really hope they pursued another path in life.”_  
  
“Kind of a breach of privacy, ain’t it?” Hjøphiël asked as he glanced away from his scroll to raise an eyebrow at Samael and the blackened leather booklet in his hand.  
  
Putting down his writing implement and standing up in order to join them, Trent remarked, “Hey, if they left it here, they’re probably prepared for the book to be read. Read us a passage, my nuggie.”  
  
Hjøphiël sighed and regretted not getting headphones when he had the chance back in Vale, electing to just try and ignore the goons going through someone else’s personal thoughts as they were.  
  
Looking as though he’d rather eat raw sewage, Samael replied, “Very well. But on your own heads be it.”  
  
The snake man then cleared his throat and began to read, pain suffusing his every feature.  
  
“ _Blood splatters, painting a grim rosebud on steel  
A stained knife stuck in linoleum as proof of the real  
Not a wound left by those I’ve slain  
Nor a scar from past pain  
But a cut opened by my hand  
As I howl against the rain.”_  
  
After he finished, Samael let out a full-body shudder, then said, “There’s more, but I don’t have the Aura left to withstand reading it aloud.”  
  
Hjøphiël just sighed and shook his head. “I’m good, fam.”  
  
Trent blinked and then blinked again. After a moment, he looked to Hjøphiël and declared, “I’m sorry for not listening.”  
  
Ichabod shrugged nonchalantly. "That wasn't as terrible as you made it out to be. Not very punchy though. I rate it seven out of ten."  
  
Samael tossed the volume down on Ichabod’s bed and declared, “If you’re so fond of this tripe, then by all means, have at it. I,” he stood, making for the bathroom, “am going to rinse my mouth out with cyanide.”  
  
"Meh, pass." Ichabod shrugged and put his earbuds back onto his ears. "It's not like I like it, I've just heard _worse_." He moved to turn the music back on but when he saw the hour he just groaned and straightened himself. "Fuck, that's right. I gotta get to work now."  
  
As Samael stepped back out of the bathroom, wiping at his mouth with a paper towel, he commented, “Bit early, ain’t it?”  
  
"Yeah, but there's stuff coming up soon, the boss wants us to deal with stuff quickly and make space." The Vacuan man leapt out of bed and patted down his poncho. "Apparently there's a big shipment of Dust from the Schnee coming in next Sunday. Need to get everything ready to receive it."  
  
Samael nodded in understanding. “Aight. Good luck my dude.”  
  
Hjøphiël, meanwhile, turned aside, his brow firming somewhat as he spoke up. “You guys have decent security there, right?”  
  
"Some cameras, an alarm system that can connect to the Vale Police Department, a few armed guys." Ichabod listed off, bringing up a finger with each mention before lowering his hand and shrugging with a slightly irritated expression. "I'm not sure it's up to par for keeping the cargo of such an _illustrious_ company as that safe, but I'm not touching that one when it comes anyway, so..."  
  
Hjøphiël looked like he’d tasted something mildly sour, but ultimately shrugged and replied with a “Fair enough,” before returning to his game.  
  
The poncho clad man hummed and nodded before patting himself down to check if he had everything on him before bidding the group goodbye and leaving.  
  
Quietly, Hjøphiël just reminded himself that there was no apparent White Fang presence in Vale, and thus there should be practically no chance of a sudden ‘demonstration’ as was so common back in Atlas.  
  
He’d had his fill of cutting down oppressed minorities pushed to extremes.


	22. One Hell of a Haul

The boat rocked along with the waves for hours on end, for the people on the deck it was just more of the usual, but the young man below felt the swaying of the ship intensely. He rarely went out to sea, and it wasn't ever for pleasure, always business.  
  
Stowing away on a ship between two layers of planks was on a whole new level though. When he told everyone about his plan, they laughed and told him to do it, because it was hilarious and actually could work out. He could deal with their little rat problem instantly and go back to usual but _dammit, it was so cramped and his butt itched and he could feel his weapon digging into him, why did he think this was a good idea?_  
  
It wasn't fun to stay there for hours, but he knew it would pay off. After waiting for the longest time, he overheard the sailors cheering when they arrived at the docks. It was only a matter of waiting just a little bit longer until the _cabrón_ who messed with their shipments showed up.  
  
He heard footsteps just outside, and several knocks on the adjacent walls of the ship. A couple repeats of that and he heard a knock right in front of his face, echoing out through the cramped compartment. Everything went silent right after.  
  
The man heard a scraping sound on the left side before something clattered on the floor. He grabbed a hold of his weapon and waited patiently for the right time. Another screw clattered to the floor, then another, then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth.  
  
Just when the wall was about to give way, he slammed his knee forward then kicked when he had enough space.  
  
As he spun his gunchucks around his body and put his foot on the ground he held back a definitely very manly scream as the limb began cramping up.  
  
"Sorry amigo, but you messed with the wrong-"  
  
Sun stopped just as he trained his gun's barrel right into a familiar face he hadn't seen for a long time. He took a sharp breath as the poncho clad Vacuan stared into his eyes, both of their expressions locked in dawning horror as they recognized who the other was.  
  
"Ichabod?"  
  
At that moment, the identified man let out a howl of terror.  
  
\---  
  
“Oh boy this is so cool this is so exciting I can’t wait to see what sorts of crazy weapons people are gonna have from other parts of the world do you think they’ll have chainsaw harpoons I wonder if they’ll have chainsaw harpoons _whydoesn’tanyoneeverhavechainsawharpoons-_ ”  
  
Yang slapped a hand over her younger sister’s motormouth with an amused titter. “Ruby, you remember that talk we had about first impressions?” the blonde asked the little ravenette.  
  
At that, Ruby’s eyes widened, a light blush played across her features, and she mumbled a muffled “sorry” in response to her excitement, removing Yang’s hand from her mouth afterwards. “I’m just so excited! There’s so many people showing up for the Vytal Festival, haven’t you ever wondered what Vacuan or Atlesian or Mistralian Huntsman weapons look like?” she asked as she bounced in place atop her toes.  
  
The sun was high in the bright blue skies of Vale, the cries of seagulls punctuated each discussion going on between the various assorted people going to and fro about the docks, some carrying minimal cargo, others far more than seemed reasonable for a single person - either way, the seaside section of town was as lively as ever, and it was about as smelly as one could expect a giant pool of saltwater and fish droppings to be.  
  
“Why would Huntsman from different regions use radically different weapons from any others?” Weiss asked, popping an eyebrow at Ruby’s excitement. “Why would anyone stray from proven weapon standards for no good reason-” the Schnee heiress was cut off by the sight of a team strolling by from the Vacuan ship’s docks, its members dressed bizarrely, almost in charity rags, and one of them carrying a cattle prod on his hip.  
  
As they passed by, Weiss just stared after them for a few moments and chose to stop talking.  
  
“What’s the matter, Weiss?” Yang asked in a teasing tone. “Don’t see you going all quiet much, less something involves your _stallion_. Cat got your tongue?”  
  
As Weiss glared daggers at the taller blonde, Blake quietly wondered if that could be taken as a racist statement or not. Should she be offended? She _was_ a feline Faunus, and the question implied thievery from the supposed cat, which reinforced negative stereotypes, but Yang didn’t typically strike her as the racist type - though Yang otherwise being tolerant as she said something horrible _could_ be taking as an indication of the normalization of racism-  
  
Blake’s thoughts were interrupted by a terrible scream of tearing metal, the side of the Vacuan transport ship exploding in a shower of sparks as a man in a sombrero and poncho slammed into a pile of student cargo, rolled to his feet, and immediately kicked off the concrete dock to sprint towards the city centre along with a string of curses in a completely alien, yet recently familiar language.  
  
 _"Nomamesputamadrevergadelachingadacomochingadosestaaquinomamesnomamesnomames!"_  
  
Ruby blinked as she recognized the figure, and sputtered in shock and confusion along with everyone else on the dock that went dead silent at the sudden burst of screaming and suggested violence. “I-Icha-?” She started, recognizing the Vacuan’s funny made-up language.  
  
"Hey hold up, where are you going!?" Someone else called after, a blonde man with an open white shirt that leapt off the hole in the boat, groaning loudly when he landed on the concrete and nursing his knee for a moment before hobbling after him. "Hey, Ichabod! Ichabod!"  
  
Where Ruby was, initially, prepared to draw Crescent Rose and charge upon seeing Ichabod being chased by a stranger, hearing said stranger call out his name gave her pause, then she thought he might be Ichabod’s friend.  
  
 _Unlike her_.  
  
Ruby found her feet locking in place as she was suddenly paralyzed with indecision, her lips drawing into an uncertain, quivering line. Should she go after them regardless? Did she have that right? Ichabod had made it clear earlier that friends exchange gifts, and he refused to accept her overhaul of Amity Arena- wait, no, that was a sports arena- Adidas Ananas, for free.  
  
The message was clear, and did that mean that he wouldn’t want her help-?  
  
“Are we going after them!?” Yang cried out, stepped forth and motioning after the pair moments before they disappeared into the crowd at the beginning of the docks, her brow twisted in confusion and befuddlement at her sister and leader’s sudden, uncharacteristic indecisiveness.  
  
It was all Ruby could do to warble out an uncertain hum, and before they knew it, the two fleeing figures disappeared from sight.  
  
Yang looked out towards the crowd, then back to Ruby - visibly unsure of how to process Ruby locking up the way she had.  
  
Blake, meanwhile, had very much noticed the golden monkey tail jutting out from the back of the white-shirted pursuer’s backside - a Faunus. Why was he chasing Sable, or rather, why was Sable running away? Not to mention how Ruby just _didn’t do anything_ despite being the man’s friend as far as she was aware…  
  
At the very least, Blake withdrew her scroll and sent a message to Samael about it. It seemed like something his teammates should be aware of, at least.  
  
After a moment, Yang cast her arms up in befuddled defeat with a declaration of “Whatever,” even as yet another new voice interjected.  
  
“Now what was that racket?” a haughty, violet-haired young woman demanded from the off-ramp of the transport barge the entire Vacuan team had arrived on, adjusting her carefully styled boyish swept bangs aside as her feet touched the concrete docks.  
  
From behind her came a tired groan. “Probably more _poor people_.” Another girl, blonde and clad in a green dress and a solitary brass pauldron walked up beside the first girl, rubbing at the back of her neck as she frowned over at her compatriot. “Why’d you let Gwen talk us into this _appalling_ idea again, Nebula?”  
  
“Because it doesn’t matter,” another auburn-headed young lady bedecked in an understated blue and brown sleeveless dress cut in, her expression one of cool disinterest. “It got us here, and some discomfort occurred. It’s not like we had to deal with any of the large sea-faring Grimm. So can you stop whining like you just came off your mother’s tit, Gayl?”  
  
Dew Gayl rolled her eyes. “That’s why you can never keep a man nailed down, Octavia. No sense of delicacy, and no appreciation for beauty sleep.” The Vacuan huntress made a show of looking her teammate up and down before cattily adding, “And goodness me, could you use a lot more of both.”  
  
“So, did you enjoy that sailor’s cock, Gayl?” Octavia asked candidly, rolling her eyes at her friend’s antics. “Men are temporary, survival is eter-”  
  
“Hey you guys!” the fourth umber-haired young lady in a dark dancer’s dress accentuated with a violet waist ribbon and underskirt interjected, placing herself between her blond and redheaded teammates, raising her hands as though to separate them from each other. “Come now, there is little need to be at each other’s throats in this manner! Has this adventure not been an insightful view into the lifestyles of Vacuo’s less fortunate?” At that, she brought her hands together, standing up on her toes and smiling radiantly. “I feel as though my horizons have been expanded most brilliantly, and my connection to the underclass deepened by our mutual hardships!”  
  
Octavia looked blandly at her leader, her mouth pulling into a frown, only to pause as a small smirk flit across her face. “So, how’s that boy toy of yours, Gwen? Haven’t seen or heard about him in a while. What, did he get so done with you that he ran into the Sand Mother’s maw?”  
  
At that, Gwen simply deflated and drifted back out of the conversation, her expression falling as she set her hand on her elbow and just stopped talking.  
  
The auburn-haired huntress-in-training turned her head to say something cutting, only to catch sight of team RWBY, her mouth pulling into a scowl of disgust. She then hissed to her teammates, “Alright, form up sluts, we got Schnee right in front of us.”  
  
Weiss and the rest of her team very much heard that, along with the rest of their thoroughly unpleasant interaction. The albino girl’s brow tightened ever-so-slightly as her nose reflexively rose into the air and she sized up the newcomers that had called her out specifically.  
  
“Yeah, you do got a Schnee right in front of you,” Yang, meanwhile, stepped forth, planting her feet wide and crossing her arms as she squared up against the unpleasant trio, the fourth having shrunk off behind them. “You got a problem with that?”  
  
Blake resisted the urge to sigh in defeat. Just one week she’d like to go without Yang trying to pick a fight with someone.  
  
Ruby, meanwhile, had turned about and gazed at the newcomers warily, her eyes falling upon the odd one out and lingering there in particular.  
  
“I think that most people would, sweetie,” the indigo-haired young woman declared, crossing her arms and squaring up in front of Yang in turn. “Her wretched country _is_ responsible for the wretched state of much of the world, after all, least of all her _family_ ,” the catty woman declared as she smugly presented a half-grin to the blonde, cocking her hips as she laced her last word with a particular amount of venom.  
  
“ _Excuse me, who do you think you are-?_ ” Weiss took a step towards the group, her brow furrowing heavily as she glowered at the catty Vacuan.  
  
“Nebula Violette,” the indigo-headed girl cut her off with a particular degree of self-satisfaction. “Perhaps you’ve heard of myself, and my teammates, Dew Gayle, Gwen Darcy, and Octavia Ember?” She inquired while lazily motioning over her team.  
  
“Why would I have heard of a gaggle of low-born desert-dwelling peasants such as yourselves?” Weiss asked, nostrils flaring in visible annoyance.  
  
“Does it matter?” Octavia mumbled from beside Nebula, her expression one of disgust. “This discussion’s as hollow as Gayl’s head.”  
  
Dew scoffed and shot her teammate a finely-manicured one-finger salute.  
  
“Well,” Nebula tittered under her breath. “It’s good to see that the Schnee heiress herself is about as boorish as one might expect, given her family’s track record with international goodwill. Though that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when she can’t even properly align a ponytail on the back of her head,” she noted with an amused little chuckle as she leaned back towards Octavia.  
  
“And her being pretty seems to be about the only beneficial thing she brings to the table, but I could be wrong about her head being as empty as her heart,” the redhead added, though she made a point to push her leaning teammate away from her and towards Gwen.  
  
“Keep up the bullshit and you’re all gonna find yourselves without heads,” Yang asserted darkly as she closed the distance between herself and Nebula, leaning in so there were only a few inches to spare between their faces. The tautness of her jaw and tenseness of her entire body indicating that she was ready to start throwing hands.  
  
“Guys, guys!” Two voices came from either side, Ruby reaching forth and drawing Yang back as Gwen did much the same with Nebula.  
  
“We shouldn’t go picking fights with visitors just getting off the boats, guys!” Ruby asserted in a low whine as Yang put up token resistance to being pulled away from the rapidly escalating confrontation.  
  
“Our fathers will not allow us to go anywhere alone again if we get into conflict literally the moment we’ve left Vacuo!” Gwen asserted, knowing that appealing to her teammates’ good nature would be a fool’s errand at best. “Do you want to be escorted everywhere we go just as we are back home?”  
  
At that, Nebula glanced back at Gwen with a raised eyebrow, then tch’d once with a shake of her head. “She’s got a point. We should probably head off before the Beringel here goes ballistic.” At that, she moved to walk around team RWBY and lead her own off. “C’mon NDGO, we’ve got better things to be doing with our time.”  
  
“And _we_ would do well to not waste _our_ time on these gravel-brained sand monkeys,” Weiss declared, having thrust her nose skywards and crossed her arms over her chest again.  
  
Blake’s brow furrowed quite heavily at that statement, glowering at Weiss out of the corner of her eye even as Ruby continued to hold Yang back. That was _definitely_ racist.  
  
Quickly enough, Team NDGO had departed, Gwen Darcy turning on her heel to apologetically wave back at the aggrieved team, Ruby returning the gesture half-heartedly.  
  
“ _Assholes_ ,” Yang growled as she shook her arm free from Ruby’s grasp. “Alright, alright! Let go, it’s not like I’m gonna run them down or something!”  
  
“It wouldn’t be the first time!” Ruby declared with a little pout to her fiery elder sister.  
  
“Can we get a move on?” Weiss interjected, setting her hands on her hips as she continued to silently fume. “Having had to put up with those sand-munching animals may have been unpleasant, but I still want to scout out our competition for the Vytal Festival next month.”  
  
“I don’t see _why_ ,” Yang shrugged with a huff. “They’re gonna be here an entire month! _And_ they’re staying at Beacon, it’s not like we’re gonna be starved for time to scout them, or, whatever.”  
  
“And the more time we take to start gathering information, the less information we’ll have to build tactics and strategies around! This isn’t difficult, Yang!”  
  
“Neither is punching things until they just stop moving!”  
  
As the silver-haired lady and the golden-haired punch idiot bickered, Blake was actively suppressing a growl. Weiss was resorting to racism to insult even humans, and it was really starting to grind her gears. She really didn’t want to rock the boat with her own team, but at this rate, she felt like she was going to explode.  
  
Having nobody to talk to about this kind of stuff was really starting to get to her.  
  
\---  
  
As Team RWBY proceeded back to the bullhead to return to Beacon, they came across a peculiar sight in the middle of town - a Dust store surrounded by police vehicles and blocked off from public access with bright yellow tape.  
  
That, in addition to the crowds of non-descript civilians looking on, needless to say, caught the attention of the girls, who slowed down as they passed the scene by, the light tapping of their soles on the stone brickwork of the footpath slowing in tandem and caught the officers working the incident conversing with one another.  
  
Staring at the busted window, a thin, lanky detective wearing glasses hummed, “So, whaddya say? White Fang again? Or Torchwick? I know the latter’s a longshot, but I feel like it’d be a good one for the pool this time around.”  
  
"Meh, my money's on White Fang. Haven't heard much about the carrot top bastard lately, seems unlikely." The other detective, who looked like a much less impressive professor Port with more fat on his face and a shifty-looking moustache that looked taped on rather than groomed, just chose to shrug and cross his arms as he examined the scene.  
  
The lanky one gave a shrug as he waved his Pistol-PDA hybrid towards his partner, and nodded as he replied, “That’s why I’m trying to push it. The desk-surfers won’t bother to check and’ll lose out on the pot.”  
  
Weiss rolled her eyes in bemusement. “Typical animals, causing trouble everywhere they go like the plague-ridden rats they are,” the little corporate heiress scoffed with a shake of her head.  
  
“Do you _have_ to make such racist comments for _no reason!?_ ” Blake snapped at the silver-haired lass, coming to a harsh stop as she practically stomped on the brick pavement in aggravation.  
  
Weiss raised her hands in faux-shock and apology. “Oh, I’m sorry Kali, would you also like me to stop calling a thief a thief, a trashcan a trashcan, or a _terrorist_ a _terrorist_? My, what a precarious line I have crossed!”  
  
Ruby _tried_ to step in between the two, but Blake blew right past her and got up in Weiss’ face, her own expression twisted into a furious rictus as she practically snarled at her colour-inverted teammate.  
  
“You don’t know people’s circumstances or why they do what they do! Stop assuming that you understand _anything_ about the lengths Faunus are pushed to by people like you!”  
  
“Oh yes, how utterly _terrible_ of us to offer Faunus secure long-term employment they’d otherwise not get, I’m so terribly sorry-” Weiss stopped, blinked, and stared over Blake’s shoulder blankly.  
  
Blake was ready to go for the throat, but turned to see what was causing that reaction and-  
  
“ _Sal-u-Tations!_ ”  
  
Promptly yelped and nearly jumped out of her boots as she leapt back and into Yang, who deftly caught her in a surprised princess carry, staring at the newcomer just the same as everyone else.  
  
Said newcomer was a curly-haired ginger girl with bright green eyes who had been standing so close to Blake that their noses almost touched when the ravenette had twisted around to face her. The new girl was smiling widely, goofily even, and didn’t seem perturbed by the responses she’d elicited in the least.  
  
For an uncomfortable amount of time, the girl just stood there, smiling. _Unblinking_. After almost a full minute, she repeated, “Sal-u-Tations! How are you four doing on this absolutely _splendiferous_ day?”  
  
The entire team just blinked owlishly, each shared a look, then the three turned to their team leader.  
  
Ruby let out a nervous chuckle, presenting a hand to the strange newcomer. “Uh-ha, h-hi there, miss…?”  
  
“Penny Polendina!” The ginger girl replied while pumping both fists in the air. “Charmed and dazzled to meet you!” Her cheerful acid-green gaze flickered between each of Team RWBY’s faces. “And what might your names be, fine compatriots?”  
  
“Um,” Ruby replied uncertainly, drawing her unshaken hand awkwardly as she stood in complete bewilderment. “I’m Ruby, and these are my teammates, Weiss, Blake, and Yang,” she pointed back at each of her companions respectively. “What, uh, are you from one of the Huntsmen academies here for the Vytal Festival?”  
  
Penny gave an energetic nod. “Indeed I am, Ruby! I have the _honour_ ,” she snapped into a salute, “and pleasure of attending Atlas Academy! The fine men and women there have done an exemplary job of making sure that I am combat ready!” Throughout her spiel, the wide smile never faded from Penny’s face, and neither did she return to an at-ease position, despite all four of them staring at her.  
  
“Ah, well, that’s good!” Ruby chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of her neck as she grew increasingly uncomfortable with how uncanny Penny’s behaviour was. “Well, um, we uh, should get going then,” she declared as she gestured down the street towards the bullhead docks. “So, um, see you later, friend-”  
  
An almost unearthly glow seemed to come to Penny’s eyes as the odd girl darted forward like a rocket, hands clasped in front of her as though in supplication. “Did-did you just say what I think you said? Did you call me your... _friend? Am I really your friend!?”_  
  
Ruby found it difficult to break off the sudden and intense eye-contact with the new girl, and as such, didn’t notice her teammates all shaking their heads in a desperate attempt to dissuade her from affirming the girl’s question. And as such, Ruby, bless her tender little heart, replied with, “Uh, sure, why not?”  
  
 _“MAGNIFICENT!”_ Penny crowed, literally vibrating in excitement. “Oh, this will be _wonderful!_ We can try on clothes, do our nails, or talk about cute boys, like tall, dark, and anemic over there!” She flailed an arm over towards an alleyway, from which Samael had just emerged, looking rather worried and entirely oblivious to the fact that he’d just been called cute.  
  
When Samael caught sight of them, Blake pointed in the general direction Ichabod had gone in. With an appreciative nod, he rushed off, and some quiet had befallen the group again.  
  
Weiss narrowed her eyes at Blake, and asked her, “Why does it seem like you’re _plotting_ something with that perverted snake?”  
  
“He’s just looking for his teammate you-”  
  
At that point, Yang, who had been cradling Blake the entire time, tossed her over her shoulder and started off down the street back to the bullhead docks, humming a jaunty little tune as Ruby fell into step alongside her, waving back at an unsettlingly grinning Penny as she did so.  
  
However, even despite her awkward placement, Blake found enough righteous fervour to continue ranting at Weiss, who snapped back even as the group made their way back to Beacon.  
  
It was gonna be a long night.


	23. Tipping Point

Ichabod wasted no time launching into a dead sprint and moving deeper into Vale's streets. Had anyone been looking at him, they would have noticed how on the nape of his neck, flesh seemed to shift around in a disgusting spiral before an eye formed there.  
  
Sun was hot on his heels, chasing after with a bit of a hobble to his step, but he was quickly adjusting and landing each footfall with more steadiness. The poncho-clad Vacuan knew he couldn't blend in with the crowds, because, of course, _he didn't replace his clothes as soon as he was out of the desert_ like the idiot he was.  
  
He tried plan B. Kicking off to the side, he rushed into an alleyway, forcing the Faunus to slide into a stop. The man leapt onto a dumpster's lid and sprung from it onto a nearby wall to launch himself to the top of a fire escape ladder. Each spot he touched seemed to undulate like water before bloodshot eyes sprung forth and snapped their gaze towards the one chasing after him.  
  
He saw him call out something, but he couldn't make out the words. The monkey man redoubled his efforts and made his way to him faster, wrapping his tail around a bar and swinging himself to the top of the roof in two seconds flat. Ichabod groaned at the unfair advantage the extra limb gave his pursuer as he dove towards another rooftop.  
  
Fine, it wasn't the first time he had to deal with shit like this.  
  
Just when it seemed like Sun was about to catch up, he intentionally flubbed the next jump and dove straight down, continuing to run as soon as he hit the floor and leaving behind a trail of eyes. By the time the Faunus had come down, he'd already rounded a second corner. He didn't know if that was enough room to work with, but it was now or never.  
  
Sun followed the trail through the alleyways. When he was about to turn for the third time, he realized it was going in a circle. He took a quick peek past the corner and saw the trail _barely_ made it a single step in that direction. Ichabod saw as the man swivelled and turned his head in all other directions, trying to find any evidence of movement. All he saw were a few black trash bags, another dumpster, old gunk and gum on the floor, a broken liquor bottle which...was moving.  
  
"Dammit, Ichabod. What the fuck are you doing?" he heard as he saw Sun run off into the opposite alleyway.  
  
The once-Mexican remained silent and motionless as he saw the Vacuan move further and further away before he left his sight completely. He kept still for a while longer before he lifted the dumpster's lid and flopped out of the stinking container, landing on his back.  
  
Ichabod brought his hands to his face, taking deep, heavy breaths as his fingernails began digging into his forehead.  
  
 _How? How the fuck did they know?_ He thought they'd already given up after Carmine, and he made sure he wasn't followed, not that they could have with how long he'd been running away. Then all of a sudden _Sun_ shows up, weapon and all and-  
  
The man's stomach turned and he had to roll. Assaulted with nausea, he vomited all over the floor. His teeth clattered and a chill went up his spine. What the fuck was he even supposed to do now? What if the guys found out? The questions kept rolling in, one after the other, stabbing into him and refusing to stop.  
  
Wait. Carmine.  
  
The hand-to-hand stance his "leader" took flashed inside his mind. At his side the dusky redhead was staring at him, a smug, self-assured smirk plastered over her face.  
  
When the dots connected in his head, he slammed his hand against the concrete. Of course, of course, that'd be the case, why didn't he ask the fucking question when he should have? What was he going to do now, with _two people_? Sun would be enough of a pain in the ass, but now Hjøë was with them?  
  
His brain trembled as his eyes shook wildly in their sockets. Those were not good odds.  
  
Ichabod crouched to a knee, letting out a shuddering breath as he wiped the bile from his mouth with his poncho. He was still in an alleyway smack dab in the middle of Vale, still not on the clear. Beacon, he had to get to Beacon first; just go to the airbus station and- _shit what if Sun was waiting out there._ He couldn't call Hjøë either, for _obvious reasons_.  
  
He needed to get out of Vale. Period. At least for a little bit to figure out what the fuck he was going to do.  
  
Ichabod stepped out of the alleys and hailed a cab as soon as he could. To the edge of Vale, away from the docks, he said. The driver looked at him with a furrowed brow but moved the car.  
  
After several minutes of steadying himself, he heard the ringing of his Scroll.  
  
"Are you finally going to answer that or what?" The driver called out in annoyance.  
  
Ichabod looked at the device and saw several messages as the ring continued to echo inside the stuffy vehicle. They were looking for him. _They were already looking for him._  
  
As soon as the ringing stopped, he turned off the Scroll.  
  
"It's fine, it's fine." The Mexican murmured. "Just keep driving."  
  
He let out a defeated sigh as he slumped in his seat.  
  
 _Now what?_  
  
\---  
  
“I just don’t see _why_ you’re getting so incensed, Kali!” Weiss declared, one hand coming up to gesture at empty air. “Those wastrels have been ransacking the city of Vale, threatening innocent people and shutting down business! They’ve been rampaging around like rabid animals!”  
  
“Stop calling them _animals!_ ” Blake shouted back, in turn, leaning forward and practically snarling at her shorter teammate. “Stop talking like they’re _lesser_ just because they’re Faunus!”  
  
Yang had long since given up on separating the two, having fallen back onto her bed and zoned out despite Ruby’s continued attempts to mediate her teammates and friends.  
  
In time, however, even Ruby’s resolve was broken, and it was all she could do to curl up in the corner of her bed and hope Kali and Weiss stopped fighting soon.  
  
“Should I not call them what they are, Kali? Would you have me call a Beowulf a Nevermore next?” the white-haired girl argued, her eyes wide as she shrugged her shoulders exaggeratedly.  
  
“ _Don’t compare them to Grimm!_ ” Blake demanded through gritted teeth, losing her focus as her feline ears were gradually drawing backwards in anger. “Don’t you _dare_ start comparing them to _Grimm_ now-!”  
  
“And why shouldn’t I?” Weiss shot back, a flush of anger rushing through her cheeks. “They do just as much damage, hurt as many people! If it weren’t for them, how many families would still be together? How many livelihoods wouldn’t have been destroyed?” Her shoulders shaking, her teeth pulled into a snarl as she leaned into her teammate’s personal space. “What about all the people who just dropped out of people’s lives because the Fang decided to assassinate them? What about all the people who’ve lost friends and family to them? What about all the people _scarred_ by them? Why shouldn’t I put two equal blights on the same pedestal?!”  
  
Ruby’s eyes drifted upwards and settled on Weiss with naked concern, and already the little ravenette was scooting towards her silver-haired teammate, reaching out as if to take hold of her hand-  
  
“Maybe if heartless humans like _you_ stopped pushing and stepping on us and treating us like godsdamned monsters for _daring_ to ask for _equality_ we wouldn’t _need_ to burn your homes and put down your soulless executives!”  
  
In an instant, the air in the room seemed to drop several magnitudes in temperature, and it was as though the simple act of breathing became laborious, like the oxygen itself had become heavy and unwilling to be drawn in by one’s lungs.  
  
It took several long moments for Blake to realize what she’d just said as the completely, utterly blank expression on Weiss’ face, and Ruby’s stunned expression, frozen mid-reach towards Weiss registered - it was as though blinders were lifted from her eyes, and she was now seen for what she was.  
  
Urchin.  
  
Orphan.  
  
Thief.  
  
Wretch.  
  
Spy.  
  
Murderer.  
  
 _Assassin_.  
  
Only then did she feel the distinctive pressure of her own feline ears pressed to her scalp, an instinctive reflex brought on by intense distress. Just as reflexively, she relaxed them to allow the ribbon encasing them to mask her species. The sudden, unthinking motion atop her head was very much noticed by her teammates, whose eyes widened in stark realization.  
  
Just as Weiss’ expression had begun to minutely shift, her eyes widening and her pupils constricting, Yang vocalized her shock aloud. “Wait, _what the fu-_ ”  
  
There was no hesitation in Blake’s response as she darted for and leapt from the window of their third-story room, blind panic and terror overtaking her mind, blinding her to the shouts behind her and the wind whipping past her face and through her hair. Gambol Shroud was deployed, its ribbon lashed out to wrap around a lamppost which she’d swung forth from, allowing her to keep her forward momentum and more smoothly land with unhuman grace as she bolted into the woods surrounding the academy in an instant.  
  
All of five seconds it had taken for Blake to disappear into the night, leaving her dumbstruck team standing in their room, staring at the wide-open window overlooking the academy courtyard.  
  
“-Oh no!” Ruby cried out as she leapt from her bed and rushed for her Scroll, charging on their room’s desk as it was. “We, we have to go after her-” turning to face Weiss, Ruby noticed that the heiress’s hand was firmly set upon Myrtenaster’s hilt as if she’d been moving to draw it from her hip. “W-Weiss-?”  
  
“We need to alert the teachers, tell them that a terrorist has compromised Beacon’s security,” the white-haired girl declared firmly, her shoulders tremoring ever so slightly.  
  
“No, we damn well don’t!” Yang proclaimed as she practically launched from her own bed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Both of you calm down! This is just a misunderstanding, think about how clearly your _blatant racism_ was bothering her! Kali clearly speaks before she thinks when she’s upset, and she has a big heart for Faunus rights! She just misspoke in the heat of the moment, that’s all!” she was practically shouting each word, her brow heavily furrowed as she did so.  
  
Ruby had shrunk away at Yang’s sudden vehemence and the sheer heat in her voice. “B-but her ribbon moved-”  
  
“That’s all? That’s _all, Xiao Long?!_ ” Weiss’s voice pitched up, her eyes narrowing as she hissed. “She admitted to burning down peoples’ houses and mercilessly executing them!”  
  
“ _She misspoke, damn it!_ ” Yang snarled, her hair almost seeming to glimmer for an instant as she let out a low growl, standing with her feet spread wide and locked in place as if bracing herself against an incoming storm. “And the window was wide open! A breeze just caught her ribbon and made it move! _That’s all_! Kali isn’t a terrorist and I’d damn well better not hear any bullshit to the contrary!”  
  
“Bullshit? I didn’t know that facts were considered bullshit now, Xiao Long!” Weiss retorted, her lips pulling into an ugly grimace as her free hand pulled into a fist so tightly that blood started beading from between her fingers. “She was _very_ clear with her language, and I didn’t know that breezes _pull_ cloth, what a wonderful new meteorological phenomenon you’ve discovered!”  
  
“ _Nobody is leaving this room until Kali comes back and explains how this is all just a big misunderstanding_ ,” Yang growled in a low, guttural tone as her eyes began to ever-so-slightly glow red and her hair began to flare out and glimmer even more brightly.  
  
Ruby, at that point, stepped forward and placed herself between her two remaining teammates, her brow firmly curled downwards as she asserted in an uncertain voice, “Guys! We, we need to calm down, okay? Just- everyone just lay down, and try to get some sleep, and I’m sure Kali will be back by the morning, right? This’ll all just be a big misunderstanding!” She rather pointedly didn’t mention to either of them that their wayward teammate had left her Scroll behind when she fled, which meant she was untrackable either way.  
  
Not to mention that she desperately wanted Yang to be right.  
  
Neither Weiss nor Yang responded to Ruby’s assertions, but, gradually, Weiss did back up and settle down on the edge of her bed, her back stiff and eyes firmly affixed on Yang.  
  
Yang did much the same, her arms remaining crossed over her chest as she made and maintained eye contact with Weiss, glaring openly, as if daring her to move for the door.  
  
Ruby, meanwhile, with great hesitation clambered back up to the top bunk hanging over Weiss’ bed, glancing back over her shoulder before curling up on her side and frowning.  
  
Weiss and Yang remained completely still, and eventually, the lack of motion in the room caused the lights to automatically shut off, leaving the room cast in a dim, cool glow of a shattered moon.  
  
The lights remained off, and nobody slept that night.  
  
\---  
  
Blake came to a stop on the edge of Vale, Patch just visibly peeking over the sea’s distant skyline, her figure silhouetted by the broken moon against the horizon on the cliffside tree where she’d hid- _disposed_ of _it_. That object she’d hoped she’d never have to set her eyes upon again.  
  
Coming to rest upon her knees, the feline Faunus gazed at the slightly sparse patch of grassy dirt where the tree’s roots split, as if in mourning at a grave. Then, after a few moments of hesitation, she started digging with her bare hands, giving no consideration for the way it marred her otherwise deceptively soft and fragile-seeming digits. The grass buds which had sprouted since she’d last packed the spot clean on a night not so unlike this one gave way with no resistance, and quickly enough, a small, worn wooden box was revealed.  
  
She raised it from the small, shallow hole, settling it upon her lap, considering the latch for a few long, ponderous moments. Eventually, however, almost with resignation, it was unlocked and gently lifted open.  
  
A feline-themed Grimm mask peered up at her from the simple, unpadded construction - as spotless as the day she’d buried it. A stark reminder of her time in the White Fang, the porcelain face of Panthera; one of the greatest spies and assassins to have ‘graced’ their number.  
  
Somehow, the sight of it clean, scrubbed of signs of murder and death sickened her more than she imagined her many victim’s visible bloodstains would. At least then it wouldn’t seem so obvious a metaphor for her own cowardice; attempts to hide her history and pretend it had never happened, despite her inability to truly let go of the past.  
  
But what was the mask if not exactly that? For even this curse, she couldn’t bear the thought of simply flinging it into the ocean; not then, when she’d sailed from Menagerie to escape her old life, despite all that it represented. Not even now with Sanus' inland sea within casual casting distance, when she found herself returning to this mask after she’d sworn off the life of a killer; of an extremist.  
  
But Schnee, being around that Schnee, talking to her, hearing her so casually execrate Faunus kind for actions people just like her had driven them to in the first place... it made her blood boil, reminded her so clearly of _why_ Adam was the way he was, why _she_ was the way that she was. The White Fang existed for a reason. Pacifism _didn’t work_ , fear was all that mankind seemed to understand, was what it took to earn even a modicum of base respect.  
  
Yet still, that feeling, it was primarily disgust directed towards herself. For allowing her thoughts to drift towards such ideas again to begin with. She hated it. Hated herself, what she’d become, what she’d done, what Adam and Ilia had done; how easily the shift from peaceful protests to wanton slaughter and destruction had been. That’s why she left, that’s why she’d come here, to become a Huntress, to _help_ people - to be a force for _good_ in the world again - or perhaps even for the first time, if it could even be said that the White Fang had ever done good in the first place.  
  
So why, despite those feelings, despite how looking upon the mask of Panthera, the bone-white mask of a killer, despite recognizing the evidence of someone whose base villainy would have brought such terrible heartbreak upon her late mother... why?  
  
 _Why couldn’t she just cast the vile, odious object into the sea and be done with it?_  
  
As a senseless war was waged in the young Faunus’ mind, she simply knelt there, as still as a statue, not even the faintest twitch of an eyebrow or tremor in her fingers to indicate the incredible pressure building in the back of her mind.  
  
So focused was she, that she failed to notice the approach of another, until, at least, the sound of leather boots scraping to a skidding halt demanded her horrified attention.  
  
Standing—no, _looming_ over her was none other than Samael, his own dirty yellow eyes as wide as her golden ones. Slowly, his gaze drifted up from the mask clenched in her hands to meet her own, panicked gaze.  
  
Cautiously, as though speaking the wrong word would cause Blake to vanish into mist, the serpent Faunus enunciated, “...We need to talk.”  
  
\---  
  
As morning light flowed through the window of Team HITS’s room, Trent held his Scroll by his ear, a heavy frown on his face as he got nothing. Pulling it away, he quickly put in another number and repeated the process, only to be met with silence. Flipping the phone around and checking his messages, all he got was proof of no replies.  
  
As a last resort, he tabbed over to check the Auras of his teammates and felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Nothing, no connection, or proof of their continued life.  
  
Taking a bracing breath, he called, “Hjøë, we got a real serious issue!”  
  
The sound of running water was cut off, and Hjøphiël stepped out of the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth. “What?” the Atlesian deserter intoned in response to his teammate’s out of the blue concern.  
  
“Figured I’d check in with Ichabod and Sammy cause they didn’t come back last night,” the blond explained and then flipped his Scroll around so the brunet could see the display. “Neither answered, so I checked their Auras, and well…”  
  
The designated team leader leaned over to peer at Trent’s Scroll, and after a few moments, blinked in surprise. “That’s- hold on, where _did_ Samael go last night?” he inquired as though the thought had only _just_ occurred to him right then and there.  
  
“He didn’t say, I figured he just went to visit his mum, but…” Trent shrugged as he put his Scroll into power-saving mode and slid it into his pocket. “He’s usually back here in the morning, hence the worry.”  
  
Hjøphiël blinked, scratched the back of his neck and popped the toothbrush out of his mouth to ask, “Did Ichabod say why he wasn’t coming back from work yesterday?”  
  
The blond shrugged again as he stood from his bed. “I can’t remember, but it’s still only right to check in on them after they’ve been out all night.”  
  
Moving to the doorway, Trent shook his head as he declared, “Screw it, I’m worried, so I’m gonna go look for them. You in?”  
  
Hjøphiël shrugged as he moved to rinse out his mouth. “I'm used to people disappearing for days to weeks at a time, but that was back in Mantle, so yeah, it’s probably not normal for folks to do that at an academy in Vale of all places,” there was a pause as the water ran for a moment, and he emerged from the washroom, grabbing his jacket from the Doomantler’s rack and throwing it on. “Yeah, we probably should."  
  
Trent nodded firmly and stated, “Let’s go find our stray nuggies!” Opening the door and stepping outside, he walked right into Yang.  
  
“Watch where you’re going you fucking idio-” Yang growled at the sudden impact until she noticed that it was Trent. “Oh, it’s you,” she noted with incredibly heavily bagged lidded eyes, practically glowering at the entirety of existence right then and there. “No time to dick around with you. Gotta find Kali. Later,” she declared as she immediately moved to keep walking past Trent, only to have Ruby reach out and catch her by the arm.  
  
“Yang! Maybe they can help!” the little would-be nun proclaimed as she turned and gave both Trent and Hjøphiël big, tired puppy dog eyes.  
  
“So, Kali’s also missing?” the blond asked, reaching up to scratch at his chin. “Well, we’re heading into Vale to look for Samael _and_ Ichabod… Why don’t we team up?”  
  
Even as Ruby’s eyes went wide at the mention of Ichabod being missing, Hjøphiël interjected. “Wait, so you guys are missing a teammate too? What, did a bunch of broody people get together to go on a bender yesterday and just not tell anyone?” He asked with perplexion as he scratched the top of his head. “Is fucking Ren missing from JNPR’s dorm as well?”  
  
Weiss growled at that even as she tapped her heeled foot on the carpeted hallway floor rapidly and anxiously. “They’d _better not_ be missing for the same reason that Belladonna is-”  
  
“ _One more word and I break your jaw, Schnee,_ ” Yang threatened as her eyes redshifted and her brow knotted heavily.  
  
“Whoa! What the fuck dude-” Hjøphiël started with understandable shock at the sudden display of aggression from the normally amiable and fun-loving blonde, who rather looked like she’d barely bothered to get dressed that morning.  
  
“There’s been a misunderstanding we need to clear up with Kali! That’s all!” Ruby asserted as pointedly as she could when she was as visibly anxious as she was. “Don’t worry about it, and you guys,” she turned towards her two remaining teammates. “You said you’d stop it!”  
  
“...Tch,” Yang shook her head. “Whatever,” she grunted as she started off down the hall again.  
  
Weiss just looked _incredibly_ pissed off, but otherwise said nothing else.  
  
“…we honestly don’t know why they weren’t back last night,” Trent answered cautiously, carefully weighing everything that had been said between Team RWY. “Closest we can figure is that it’s something for Ichabod’s work, and Samael went to visit his mum… but they aren’t responding to calls or texts, and the Scrolls aren’t registering their Auras.”  
  
Weiss looked like she _really_ wanted to say something, but bit her tongue and continued to stare after a still departing Yang.  
  
Instead, Ruby replied. “Okay, so we can stop by Samael’s place and ask if he just spent the night with miss Ivory, and look around the docks to see if any of Ichabod’s workmates have seen him!” she pumped her little fists and put on a smile despite her visible sleep deprivation. “Okay, let’s go do it, then!”  
  
Though Hjøphiël was quite unsettled by Yang’s incredible overt hostility to Weiss, they apparently did have shit to get to, so he didn’t press the matter - maybe there’d be time to address that later.  
  
So, the rag-tag group set off after Yang, intent on locating their wayward teammates rather than relaxing this weekend like normal students.


	24. Premonition of a Storm

Ichabod let out a loud yawn as he stepped out of the hairdresser, his mane cut down a fair bit. He idly scratched at his thigh, the basic bitch looking jeans and T-shirt he'd bought at the thrift shop were somewhat itchy, but they'd do the trick while the rest of his clothes were at the laundromat.  
  
Not that he'd be wearing them for the time being. The former-Mexican let out a harsh breath. What the fuck was he even doing? Why was he stalling for time when he should have already taken off? He had enough of a headstart on Sun that he could worry about making a new identity and changing his look after he reached Mistral.  
  
The thought was stopped dead on its tracks by the biting pain of hunger. There was that, yeah, he didn't know what to forage for this side of Sanus, but just stocking up on enough canned food to get to a settlement would do in this _land of plenty_. Worse came to worst he could nab a survival guide before leaving.  
  
 _So why didn't he already?_  
  
Ichabod clenched his teeth and grasped the side of his head, the throbbing on the inside warned of the oncoming migraine, he could think more on it after making sure he could eat. Quickly scanning the streets around him, he found a large M set upon a pole off in the distance.  
  
Mc Dusties wasn't his first choice for a meal, but he couldn't be picky and go off to Mrs. Popout's, it was a bit too risky for his liking. They knew him well, with how many times he'd gone, and if that rat bastard Hjøë was looking for him, the girls wouldn't think anything of it if he asked them to keep a look for him. The man could just _say_ he was concerned about a missing friend, just like he could _say_ he was a poor orphan boy from Mantle and everyone would just eat that shit up.  
  
The Vacuan man kicked at the empty air in front of him. It just pissed him off that he'd bought all of Hjøë's lies. It didn't make sense, how'd an Atlesian know _Carmine's CQC?_ And instead of going and questioning the bastard, he just decided not to rock the boat until it was too late.  
  
Glowering as he moved towards the fast food joint, he tried to keep his emotions in check, but the most he could manage was to force his expression into a somewhat disinterested scowl. After arriving, his nostrils were assaulted by the rich smell of overly processed junk food that wafted from the kitchens, only a short way away from the counter.  
  
Anger quickly turned to annoyed dejection, then to melancholy. Something as minor as that just _had_ to be what actually helped him get the answer he was looking for.  
  
He was stalling because he didn't want to leave.  
  
Six months. For six months he'd lived in Vale and gotten to know the warm comforts it had. Everything from the greenery, to the almost sedate liveliness of the sprawling metropolis, to its well-kept and friendly infrastructure, to the people living there with problems so wildly different to what he was used to seeing...it was like he'd just stepped into a whole other world.  
  
The Vacuan man lowered his head and moved to the back of the line, a sullen look on his face now. After everything that happened, he was tired. So _goddamn tired_. All that pain for just a six month grace period instead of the clean break he wanted.  
  
He could leave, yeah. Just walk his sorry ass all the way to Mistral, but he didn't _want to_. The problem was, it wasn't like he could stay either. Not with _them_ on his back, hunting him down, ready to-  
  
Ichabod shuddered and blocked out lifelike images his mind conjured up, detailing all the possibilities of what would happen if they got him. _Vacuo did not forget_. Didn't forgive either.  
  
When it was his turn to order, he just took a burger and some nuggies. What he'd get for dinner and whatever came after, he could sort out later. After receiving his cup, he turned around and moved to the soda fountain.  
  
In his mind, there were the beginnings of a plan to deal with Sun, if nothing else. The problem was that if he committed to it, he'd have to take Hjøë next and he didn't like his odds, not after how his fight with Carmine went. The other option was still open, but it wasn't great either; abandoning Vale and fucking off to Mistral wasn't something he should just do on a lark, and it wasn't like there were any guarantees that they wouldn't just follow him and put him in the same position all over again. He could only handle so much wasted effort.  
  
He placed the cup on the grill and pushed the button above to fill it with cola. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?  
  
“Ichabod?” a familiar voice came from behind him.  
  
The Vacuan man turned with a start and nearly leapt out of his shoes until recognition set in.  
  
"Jesus!" He exclaimed with a wince before taking a breath as he faced Ren. "Don't scare me like that, man."  
  
The young Mistralian man lifted an eyebrow, quietly bemused as he remarked, “And here I was just trying to be social.”  
  
"Sorry, been a bit high strung lately, is all. Lotsa things on my plate at the moment." Ichabod undersold the situation without hesitating before glancing aside and continuing to fill his cup. "So uh...what's up? What's taken you this side of town?"  
  
Ren jerked his thumb over his shoulder, at a booth on the other side of the joint, where Nora was pouting as the tiny redhead played with a salt shaker. “The closest pancake place to the bullhead docks is closed because of the recent robberies, and Nora got us banned from the other one a few weeks ago when she started stealing from other people’s plates while shouting something about ‘all you can eat.’”  
  
"Ah," Ichabod muttered before giving a forced chuckle. "Somehow, I'm not surprised, and frankly I don't know what that says about me."  
  
“That you’re capable of basic pattern recognition?” Ren offered with a shrug. “Anyways, don’t usually see you out and about on your own,” he observed.  
  
"Oh, just uh...getting new clothes! The old poncho was getting a bit stuffy is all." He lied through his teeth scratching at the back of his head awkwardly.  
  
He could keep the conversation going for a while if he wanted, but the more time he wasted the less time he'd have to prepare and think things through-  
  
The man stopped in his tracks for a second. At this point, he was honestly quite stumped on what to do now and ultimately he knew he'd be stuck on that thought for longer than he'd be comfortable.  
  
There was only so much he could tell Ren, obviously, but maybe he could give him a unique take on things? Would be better than just mulling it over for the rest of the day and doing dick-all about it.  
  
"Actually, something's come up," Ichabod admitted as he let his hand drop. "Mind if I ask you a question? It's...kind of a huge mess, all things considered."  
  
Ren seemed surprised by the question and rubbed the back of his neck before responding. “About what?”  
  
"Just need your opinion on how I should approach a certain problem, I need a fresh perspective on it." The Vacuan answered and gave a long sigh. "We might have to sit down for this one, it's a real doozy."  
  
Ren shrugged and gestured back towards his and Nora’s booth. “Let’s sit down then.”  
  
\---  
  
With the bullhead locked and secured, Hjøë descended from the aircraft to meet with the present members of Teams HITS and RWBY, who were gathered at the base of the gangplank. “Okay,” the brunet declared as he gazed out over the large city of Vale, squinting outwards with some degree of intensity. “So how we going about doing this?”  
  
“I’llgochecktheslumsandseeifmissIvoryhasseenSamaelorIchabod!”  
  
Before anyone could say or do anything, Ruby was gone in a burst of rose petals, leaving the rest of the party standing there, bewildered at her departure.  
  
“Damn it, Ruby,” Yang grumbled as she palmed her face, having seemingly calmed down a fair bit, though not completely on the ride to the city.  
  
Ignoring the way that the blonde was still visibly aggravated, Trent reached out and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Ruby’s not really the best at dealing with interpersonal conflict, give her some time.” After a moment, he looked over to the decidedly standoffish heiress and asked, “So, Schnee, you wanna search with me or Hjøëy?”  
  
At the question, Weiss’ nose crinkled, glancing Hjøphiël’s way with disdain. Then, she looked at Yang, actually glowered and replied with “Well I’m not pairing up with _her_ ,” as she crossed her arms over her chest and turned aside to fume into the distance.  
  
“Well, if you’re gonna be like that…” the blond former Canadian grunted, rolling his eyes as he gave his head a shake and turned his attention back to the Patch-born girl. “So, you wanna party with me, or Hjøëy the gloomy-guts?”  
  
After a moment, Yang’s expression lightened ever so slightly as she replied, “Screw it, leave Weiss-cream to her stallion, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” As she finished, she started walking off in the other direction, forcing Trent to trot after her.  
  
With a wave to the last pair, he hollered, “Make sure you actually use your Scroll, Hjøë!”  
  
Hjøphiël watched them depart with lidded eyes, and eventually, it was just him and the veritable ice queen. Several long moments passed in awkward silence as she continued to brood, little other than the distant sounds of birds chirping from the treetops and the low, distant drone of police sirens gracing their ears.  
  
Eventually, he figured that one of them had to break the ice, and he was curious. “So, what’s with the sudden overt hostility between you two?” he asked as casually as he could manage.  
  
Weiss’ gaze drifted aside to peer at the young man out of the corner of her eye, considering him for a few moments before she replied warily. “Xiao Long is in denial about the fact that Kali- if that’s even her real name - outed herself as a White Fang terrorist last night and has been threatening to assault me if I tried to report it to the authorities.”  
  
At the mention of the White Fang, Hjøphiël’s hand reflexively twitched towards the grip of his pistol, brow furrowing and breath hitching for a moment. Hearing that name had never preceded good times in his previous line of work.  
  
There was a beat as she gauged his reaction, and Hjøphiël in turn made an effort to remain calm and approach this assertion rationally.  
  
“Belladonna's a Faunus?” he asked matter-of-factly.  
  
“She’s hiding the evidence beneath that ribbon of hers,” Weiss pointed to the top of her head as a visual aid. “It was pressed against her scalp, like a cat’s ears, moving on its own when she declared that she’d been committing arson on Schnee Dust Company property - as well as kill-” she froze up, her entire body locking and shuddering as she visibly repressed no small amount of anger. “ _Murdering_ SDC executives. People I knew since I was just a child, just… _gone_ one day.”  
  
She took a step forwards, or rather, stomped towards Hjøphiël with her brow knitted and her nose crinkled in anger.  
  
“We need to go to the police and inform them that the White Fang have infiltrated Beacon and- and are likely targeting _me_ this time!”  
  
At that, Hjøphiël raised his hands and made a halting motion at the heiress, “Alright, alright, calm down-”  
  
“ _No!_ ” Weiss cried, her shoulders trembling all the more at his words. “I- I’ve been sharing a room with one of the people that have been systematically _murdering_ anyone associated with my family! They’ve assassinated the spouses and siblings of high-ranking executives, people that aren’t even a part of the company just to _send a message_! I’ve been sleeping in the same room as her! For _months_ now! And my own teammate has not only made excuses for one of these self-admitted _terrorists_ , she’s threatened to hurt me if I try to go to the police! _I will not calm down_!”  
  
As the girl projected authority and command with her voice, her body betrayed the sheer terror overwhelming her. Shoulders shaking, lips minutely trembling, knees all but quaking. Weiss was scared, genuinely afraid for her life.  
  
“I’ve fought the White Fang before,” Hjøphiël declared, keeping his hands raised as she spoke in as soothing a tone as he could manage. “I know how they operate, I’ve survived their ambush attempts and defended people from them - it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen to you.”  
  
Weiss’ eyes widened at his assertions, and after a few moments, she began to slightly relax, nodding in recognition. “...You,” she started with some hesitation, recalling his duel with Cardin Winchester some time ago. “You fight like an Atlesian soldier.”  
  
Any other day, he'd have panicked at her words; right now, there was a potential terrorist on the loose. “I’ve been trained to counter guerilla tactics,” Hjøphiël calmly replied, keeping his cool and focusing on the immediately pressing issue of Belladonna rather than being sussed out. “Now focus and relax - I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened last night; then we’ll settle on a course of action. Alright?”  
  
Weiss blinked, rubbed at her own elbow with a deep breath, and sighed before responding. He had Atlesian training - she didn’t know what that exactly meant, or why he was in Beacon and not Atlas Academy, but it meant there was someone who, early impressions aside, she could trust to at least take the threat of the White Fang seriously right now. “Okay,” she nodded. “It started on our way back from the docks, when-”  
  
\---  
  
Blake glanced around the “hidey-hole” Samael had brought her to so they could talk more privately. It was a cramped hovel lit only by the dim light of half a dozen stubby, near worn out candles. The only furniture to speak of was a makeshift table consisting of a palette of wood balanced atop a crate, with a pair of worn pillows to either side of it, all of which Samael had produced from beneath the floorboards.  
  
As she stood tensely to one side of the table, Samael bustled around the other side of the shack, grabbing this and that from various other hidden spots before returning to the “table” and placing a couple of packets of saltine crackers and an opened can of tuna on the table beside her.  
  
“It’s not much,” he hedged, plopping down on the pillow on the opposite side of the table, “but I’m sure you’re hungry. You should eat before we talk.”  
  
Blake just glanced down at the offered food and turned away slightly with a muted “I’m not hungry,” as her reply. She didn’t move from her spot, and settled a hand back on the satchel she’d deposited her old mask into with visible discomfort.  
  
Samael frowned, then let out a sigh. “Suit yourself, I guess. Shame to waste food, though.” He tossed his fedora to one side and rubbed at his face, before asking bluntly, “So. You were Fang, huh? Or are?”  
  
“I left,” the ravenette very quickly declared at his inquisition. “I-” she hesitated, seemingly needing to gather her thoughts before continuing with a sigh. “I couldn’t keep… doing it.”  
  
“And so you came to Beacon. To become a Huntress, do good, that sort of thing?” Samael asked, tilting his head to one side.  
  
“Yeah, that sort of thing…” she muttered in response, looking for all the world like she wanted nothing more than to turn tail and bolt out of the hideout right then and there.  
  
“So what changed?” The snake Faunus prompted. “Did Schnee do something?”  
  
“She started to go off on a racist rant after some prejudiced police just _decided_ that the White Fang had robbed a Dust shop yesterday,” Blake asserted, her brow furrowing and at least a portion of her previous anger returning to her as she recalled the earlier argument. “Started comparing Faunus to plague rats, then trash, then after she had the gall to act like her company’s functional enslavement of Faunus workers was a _favour_ , she compared us all to the _Grimm_!”  
  
Her ears had flattened against her scalp again, and she’d started trembling furiously.  
  
“I just, I lost my temper, and admitted that I’m- that I used to be in the White Fang, because of people like her pushing us over the brink just for wanting equal rights.”  
  
Samael, for his part, had a look on his face as though he’d bitten into an especially sour lemon. “I wish I could say I was surprised,” he said with a sigh, “but given the things that come out of her mouth at times…I can see why you’d lose your temper, especially with how—” he searched for words for a moment or two, “— _passionate_ you are about the topic.”  
  
Blake’s gaze was initially locked onto Samael but then drifted towards the ground, where they settled and she grew visibly uncertain, continuing only very hesitantly. “But the worst part is… I, I honestly, I hated what she was saying so much because, to an extent, I know she’s-” she let out a shuddering sigh, shame visibly overcoming her. “I know _she’s right_. We, we even, we even _used_ _Grimm_ in some attacks-!”  
  
She practically ripped the mask she’d previously dug up from her satchel, clung to it with whitening knuckles and flaring nostrils before bodily tossing it against a wall, which left a mark on the surface and did nothing to harm the armoured faceplate itself.  
  
“Where do I get off getting mad at her, when we _choose_ to wear those damned things!? When we destroy property and create orphans, when I’ve killed so many-!” her teeth produced an audible click as she snapped her mouth shut and stopped, or rather, tried to.  
  
Her shoulders heaved, and tears were building up in the corners of her eyes as years of repressed emotions began to bubble up and fracture the dam she’d built up for so long. Once, Adam would have assuaged her fears and concerns, affirm her belief and the righteousness of their cause. But Adam wasn’t here, and even if he was, she knew that he was exceedingly biased; he’d justify anything, up to and including civilian casualties if it meant furthering their agenda.  
  
And she’d eaten all of it up because it had given her something to hate, something to direct her anger at. A demon to hunt, a monster to attribute her mother’s death to.  
  
“She’s right,” Blake whined. “She’s right,” she repeated as she fell back against a wall and slid down it, now curling up as it all hit her, all over again, just how much of a savage beast she’d become in her drive to earn nothing more than equality.  
  
For a time, Samael was quiet, gaze drifting between the crying girl before him and the mask sitting on the floor—the mask that, now that he got a proper look at it, he vaguely recognized as one that Vale PD had posted on their Persons of Interest list, and rather high up at that.  
  
After a long moment, though, Samael spoke, calmly and quietly. “Perhaps. However, you left them when you realized just how wrong the things you did are does not excuse those acts, but it is a good first step in making restitution.”  
  
“What does that matter?” Blake choked out, visibly crestfallen by the storm of emotions raging in her chest. “Weiss… she’s going to report me to the Headmaster, to the police, to her father and the Atlesian military. And, and she’ll be right to.” Her eyes settled on the mask laying on the floor, staring blankly up at the ceiling of the hovel they were settled in. “I hate looking at it,” she said, clearly referring to the mask itself. “It’s clean, it’s so pristine and untarred. You can’t even tell how much blood it’s been soaked in. Like it was never used by a coward so her victims wouldn’t even have a face to apply to their killer…”  
  
Samael’s gaze followed hers to the deceptively pristine panther mask. “What does it matter, you ask?” He questioned rhetorically. “Well, I suppose I assumed that you wanted to be proactive about making up for the things you’ve done, rather than merely accepting imprisonment and wasting your skills and talent by rotting in a cell.” He sighed and leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. “Easier said than done, I am well aware, but I believe it is better to keep moving forward even if the path is treacherous, rather than just casting oneself to the side of the road and giving in.”  
  
“...And what about Weiss?” Blake asked quietly. “Do you think she’ll be willing to just forgive and forget the fact that she’s been sleeping in the same room as a White Fang assassin?”  
  
Samael grimaced. “Not without concrete evidence that you are _not_ with them anymore. The question is, how would one go about proving that?”  
  
Blake’s ribbon had drooped along with her head, and after a few moments, she wiped at some of the tears in her eyes and replied. “I know where the White Fang would be operating if they’re actually in Vale now, I guess. If they were stealing Dust, they’d try to smuggle it out of town as quickly as possible to avoid other would-be-thieves from stealing it in turn… and the docks here in town are the most used means of shipping things to the parts of Remnant the White Fang usually operates in.”  
  
Samael rubbed his chin. “The docks, hmm? You know, Ichabod works down there and mentioned that there’d be a _big_ shipment of Dust from the SDC this evening; I imagine that if the Fang would hit anything, it’d be that.”  
  
Blake blinked, and her face paled. “That’s- oh no, if the White Fang _are_ in Vale… they’d _absolutely_ prioritize an SDC shipment like that as a target - either to take the Dust for themselves or to turn it into a ‘demonstration.’” She rose to her feet with purpose, nodding once as she boldly strode across the cramped room to scoop her mask back off the ground. “ _If_ they’re here, that’s absolutely where they’d be.”  
  
Samael rose to his feet, scooped up his own, rather less terrorist-aligned headgear and plopped it on his head. “It sounds like we’ve got a plan, then.”  
  
At that, Blake blinked in confusion, then surprise. “Wait, you don’t- you aren’t planning on coming too, are you? This- this isn’t your responsibility.”  
  
Samael shook his head. “Responsibility or not, I’m not about to just sit back and watch you go up against gods-only-know how many members of the Fang with no backup. I don’t doubt your skill,” he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly “but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t help out a friend in a time like this.”  
  
It took a few moments for Blake to register that, and she blinked rapidly several times as her lips parted momentarily. “...But you don’t even know my-” she paused, grimaced, considered something, and nodded. “Blake. My name, it’s Blake.”  
  
Samael’s lips quirked up into a small smile. “It’s good to properly meet you, Blake.”  
  
She just smiled and nodded, turning and departing the hovel with a purpose as she shoved her old mask back into her satchel and forcefully rubbed her eyes dry.  
  
After blowing out the candles and quickly hiding everything he’d pulled out for visitors, Samael left right behind her, moving some cinder blocks to hide the entrance of the hovel as he exited.  
  
The duo then set off, the sun beating down on them as they began their journey to the docks.  
  
 _‘Wait, the docks...Ichabod!’_ Samael’s eyes widened in realization and he whipped out his scroll. Unfortunately, it was dead as a doornail.  
  
 _‘Shit.’_  
  
\---  
  
Trent looked at Yang, who stared stone-faced back at him. As one, they stared at the open sewer grate before them. After a moment, the shorter of the two remarked, “This _really_ isn’t where I was expecting this to go. It started with us trying to get ice cream for us and Ruby, but to get the special slo-melt stuff, the kid manning the counter wants lewd photos of a Faunus woman.”  
  
“And we found someone who’s willing to help us with that!” Yang declared cheerily, ignoring the musty odour rising from the open sewer. “We just need to get her keys!”  
  
“Which she dropped down the sewer,” Trent replied, his expression growing more and more dead as he considered climbing down. “Think we have time to go and grab a large magnet? Something like that would be _super_ useful for this.”  
  
“No time for that, let’s get in there!” the blonde brawler exclaimed as she wrapped her arm around his neck and dragged him in after her, plunging them into the literal underbelly of the city as the cry of distant police sirens punctuated their descent.  
  
\---  
  
Ruby stepped out of the slums, dejected at miss Ivory not having seen her son the previous day or night at all. Her little brow was furrowed, and she tried to think of where he and Ichabod could be, and furthermore, was idly regretful of the fact that she’d rushed off on her own without a partner when Hjøphiël parked the bullhead.  
  
“Dang it,” she whined, stomping her combat boot-encased foot on the pavement as she crossed her arms almost petulantly. “Two heads would be a lot better than one right about now-”  
  
“ _Sal-u-tations!_ ”  
  
Ruby immediately regretted everything.


	25. The Calm

Hjøphiël had crossed his arms and listened intently as Weiss finished her story. She looked all the more spooked by the end, letting out a shuddering sigh as she placed her hands on either of her unimpressive biceps in a nervous gesture, gazing about with visible uncertainty.  
  
With a resolute nod, Hjøphiël proceeded to withdraw his scroll from his pocket and declare “We’re calling the police,” without missing a beat. Inconsistencies or no, regardless of the fact that ‘Kali’ hadn’t actually done anything to Weiss with the numerous opportunities she had, that all _did_ sound like an admission of association with the White Fang.  
  
For as much sympathy as he felt for the Faunus and understood how they felt driven to such extremes, it didn’t change the fact that they were terrorists, and he personally knew how dangerous they were from experience. Not to mention that, as a career soldier, he knew that there was a time when you stopped trying to be the hero and reported a _situation_ to a higher authority - this was absolutely one of those times.  
  
“Saint’s breath…” the Schnee girl uttered quietly as she pressed her index fingers into the bridge of her nose, cupping her mouth as she let out a deep, relieved breath. “Someone with _reason_ …”  
  
Hjøphiël had dialled the number, and held the scroll up to his face, waiting for an answer. It rang, continued to ring, and rang some more until suddenly cutting off with an unpleasant electronic beep. “What the-” the brunet muttered as he looked at the device in his hands in confusion which was met by Weiss. He tried again, and it produced the same result.  
  
“What’s going on?” Weiss asked, her brow furrowing as her frown deepened.  
  
“The call’s timing out,” Hjøphiël declared as he gazed at his scroll in naked disbelief.  
  
“What? Why would it be timing out!?” Weiss demanded as the low buzz of police sirens could be made out over the din of the city’s ambience. “That makes no sense! How lax can Vale’s police force be!?”  
  
Hjøphiël went to reply, then his ears perked up as, for the first time, he actually noticed the distant chorus of police sirens, at which point Weiss seemed to as well.  
  
The two shared a look, and immediately both were navigating to the Vale News Network app on their scrolls-  
  
 _“-official is being held hostage by an unknown terrorist in the vicinity of Forever Fall, currently believed to be in the old pre-Great War fortress of Wolf’s Bane!”_ Cyril Ian’s voice cracked to life over the speakers of their scrolls, just audible over the sound of buffeting propellers. The news feed showed the field reporter standing dramatically in the open cabin of a hummingbird - a helicopter-like airship. _“Councilman Cleinias was returning home from a regular shopping trip when he was suddenly abducted by disguised figures armed with military assault weapons and close-quarters combat gear, as reported by multiple eyewitness accounts - believing this to be a possible White Fang demonstration, the entire police force has been summoned to intervene as Huntsmen are called upon via emergency measures to support. More will be reported as the situation develops, back to you at the station, Lisa-”_  
  
Hjøphiël’s gaze drifted up from his scroll to meet Weiss’ own mortified stare.  
  
“Shit,” both declared in perfect unison.  
  
\---  
  
Ichabod went and finished the last of his nuggets contentedly. The sour-n-sweet sauce around it flooded his mouth once more with flavoury goodness. Mc Dusties had some trash meat but _damn_ if the condiments weren't just the best.  
  
The man drew in air and frowned as the awkwardness of his silence just continued to drag on for longer.  
  
"Sorry, just trying to put it all together." He mumbled before grabbing a fry and biting into half of it, chewing and swallowing as soon as he could. "Kind of unsure of how I should even go about explaining this."  
  
“Well, perhaps you should start at the inciting incident, as it were,” Ren suggested matter-of-factly as Nora excitedly gestured to him in agreement, her mouth too firmly stuffed with cheap McDustie’s pancakes to speak like a person. The Mistralian man, in comparison to Ichabod and Nora, had barely touched his food at all, seemingly too caught up in Ichabod’s behaviour to focus on his meal.  
  
Ichabod scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. _It'd be real nice if he could actually go into detail on that, wouldn't it?_  
  
"Alright, so... best way I can put this, right?" Ichabod prefaced his long-winded explanation, throwing his arm to the side, the half-bitten, greasy potato slice still sitting between his fingers. "I got myself settled pretty nicely in a routine, stuff's been going alright.”  
  
Letting out a breath, he finished his fry and leaned back on his seat, looking aside and staring into the floor.  
  
"But well, _something's_ come up." The Vacuan man glossed over the vast majority of the details in a single breath. "And it's pretty much messed things up for me. I might be able to fix it, though that's not happening without a fight. It'd probably be a lot easier to cut my losses and just let it go, even though that'd be pretty bad and I would take a while to find a place as comfortable as the one I'd let go.  
  
"Obviously going in and fighting to keep the things you appreciate is the way to go, right?" Ichabod asked rhetorically with a shrug before sighing. "But here's the dilemma and what I need to hear your take on; _I don't know the consequences_. For all I know, if I fight, I'll still end up losing what I've got anyways, and if I let go, I'll still end up fighting anyways. Both options could just end up blowing up in my face and I wouldn't know it until it happened."  
  
The displaced Vacuan moved a hand to his forehead. "So here's my question: if you were in a similar position, without knowing for certain what would happen either way, what would you choose to do?"  
  
When he glanced back at Ren to try and gauge his response, the Mistralian had gone quiet, and even Nora, upon swallowing her entire mouthful of unchewed pancakes, lost her usual explosive excitement and had just started staring at Ichabod with an uncharacteristically serious expression.  
  
Ren, rather than respond immediately, shifted his gaze downwards, and he seemed to consider his hands for a time. First, staring at his open palms, then, gradually, closing them into firm fists as his eyes narrowed in turn. Nora reached out and set her own hand over his fist, lightly squeezing it as she gazed at him with a quiet, but pained sympathy.  
  
Very, very uncharacteristic behaviour from both of them.  
  
“I would fight,” Ren asserted as he affixed his eyes to Ichabod’s, staring intensely into the Vacuan’s primary oculars. “If I had the means, if I knew I was strong, that I wouldn’t be just throwing what little I had left away-” Nora scooted over closer to him, her expression slowly falling with each word uttered by the raven-haired young man. “I would fight for what I had, I wouldn’t allow anything to _dare_ deprive me of happiness, to destroy all that I cherished.”  
  
Ren’s nostrils had flared slightly as he spoke, and his voice only took on the faintest heat and edge to it, but it was there, and it was noticeable for how unshakably even-toned and calm the Huntsman-in-training typically was.  
  
Nora had just leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder by that point, lightly stroking his still-balled fist as she was visibly upset by something, but didn’t vocalize it.  
  
“If I were in your position,” Ren continued, his expression mostly stoic, but his eyes betraying a heretofore unseen intensity. “I wouldn’t give up. I… I don’t think I could live with myself if I did.”  
  
Ichabod was taken aback by the absolute surety and firmness in the Mistralian's voice. The vaguely Nordic girl's silent reassurances were not lost on him either. It was not a question he should have asked in a tone as light as he'd presented it with. The Vacuan man's gaze fell to the floor. Much as the shame of having dug his hand into an old wound was trying to bury into him, he was more focused on Ren's words. That pain gave those words all the more weight.  
  
 _Years and years had come and gone, with no light from the sky. He could do nothing but stare deeper down into the Abyss of Xibalba. How much did he have to endure in those days? How many times did he consider every avenue of escape from that blackest of pits?  
  
For what reason had he crossed the desert? There was no joy to be found in those sun-scorched sands. No kindling for a flame.  
  
And then he found something he could light a spark on. He stumbled every step of the way, but the fire was lit. And it burned on.  
  
This warmth...he wouldn't forgive himself for giving it up without a fight, would he?_  
  
The Vacuan raised his head high and took a deep, steadying breath.  
  
"Yeah." He muttered, before speaking up again louder. "Yeah, I don't think I could either, thinking about it a bit."  
  
Ichabod shook his head and moved out of his chair, putting what was left of his meal inside the paper bag he'd asked for.  
  
"I guess I just needed to hear it from someone else." The man said with a melancholic smile. "Sorry I burdened you with this, but I really needed some perspective. I know what I gotta do now."  
  
“Yeah,” Ren nodded, leaning back and leaning into Nora in turn. “I… hope everything works out for you, Ichabod.”  
  
The former Mexican nodded, grabbing his food as he spoke. "Yeah, me too. I can't say for sure how the cookie will crumble at the end of the day, but I'll be damned if I don't put every bit of my soul into this going forward."  
  
Ren and Nora just nodded at the man and remained where they’d cuddled up to each other in their booth.  
  
"Later. No matter what happens, I'll be sure to pay you two back for the advice." Ichabod promised, taking his leave right after saying those words.  
  
Last night, he had a while to carefully consider how he could go about dealing with Sun, and although he would be playing it by ear, he was confident in his plan.  
  
If he didn't take off his head with the first strike, he could fall back on the _absolutely massive_ containers of Schnee Dust at the docks. He knew the blindspots at the docks, and if the security guys saw them…it made him retch a bit, but hey, he knew their views on Faunus.  
  
After that...well he could think about how to deal with Hjøë later.  
  
Ichabod left the McDusties with renewed resolve. There was but one path. Regardless of the consequences, he had to follow it through to the end. After all that he'd gone through, after the long pilgrimage, after staring death in the eye as many times as he had, why did he even hesitate?  
  
He'd see them both dead. If it worked out, then all was well. If it didn't and he was forced to leave Vale.  
  
The man winced and stopped midway, the laundromat only a few streets ahead.  
  
If he was forced to leave Vale, it wouldn't be on good terms. There were a couple debts he still had to pay, and…Ichabod shook his head. _No_. He had to stop thinking about the goodbyes he couldn't even get the chance to say if things went south. As he resumed his step though, he couldn't help but think about it.  
  
 _It wasn't like he hadn't already gone and disappointed a friend here with his actions already._  
  
\---  
  
Trent stared at the sight before him, Yang doing much the same from beside him.  
  
They’d delved deep into the strangely spacious sewers of Vale, searching for the woman’s dropped key, and had eventually found it. In the hands of a quartet of turtle Faunus. Who refused to let them have it, even after explaining that they were trying to get it to its proper owner.  
  
The quartet of turtle Faunus struck a pose, each of them falling into a fighting stance with their weapons out. The apparent leader, a man with a swollen turtle’s head and his mouth pulled into a caricature of a permanent grin warned them. “Now listen, you cats came onto our turf, demanding we hand something over to you. We can’t trust that.”  
  
“My bro Mikey said it!” the one with a large turtle shell on his back crowed, bouncing on the tips of his toes. Beside him, another of his brothers shook his head and sighed, his open maw showcasing a horrific display of sea-turtle teeth.  
  
The last brother shrugged as he readied a simple wooden staff in his webbed and clawed hands. “Sorry, dudes, but it’s gotta be this way.  
  
“Please, just give us the key and we’ll leave…” Trent groaned, even as Yang punched her fists together, a fiery grin on her face. Seeing that his partner in blondeness was going to meet the challenge and that the apparent siblings weren’t going to listen, the blond shifted into a fighting pose.  
  
Yang chuckled as her foot shifted. “I was looking for someone to beat all my frustration out on, and you four’ll do nicely!”  
  
With that, she darted forward, a mad laugh escaping her as the turtle squad and Trent charged in, and the melee began.  
  
\---  
  
After poking around the various nooks and crannies of Vale’s docks, Blake and Samael settled into a good haunt atop a roof of a building adjacent to the main loading zone. The ridge of the rooftop was high enough that they both could flatten themselves against the cement surface and be utterly concealed except from directly above, and otherwise gave a good view of pretty much the entirety of the docks proper.  
  
One thing that stood out, during their inspections, was the startling lack of guards or security. Certainly, there’d been cameras, but the blind spots between them were nothing short of negligent, at least absent any personnel patrolling between them.  
  
Worrying...and telling.  
  
“Deals and exchanges of goods like Dust was always something Ilia was more involved in than me, but,” Blake started in a hushed voice as she pondered her sword, Gambol Shroud, rather idly. “This looks like the sort of set-up she’d described when the White Fang would work out a peaceful deal with someone. Bribe the guards, loop security footage, and make the area quiet before the exchange occurs.” She grimaced heavily. “I hope it’s all just a coincidence…”  
  
Samael grimaced as he looked up from where he’d been running a cloth down the length of Desolation Amaterasu. “If it _is_ a coincidence, I can only imagine that it’s because some _other_ group is aiming to pilfer this Dust. But if this matches up with standard procedure, that strikes me as unlikely.” After a few more brushes at his blade, he put the cloth away and retracted the blade, then folded it back over and secreted it away in his sleeve once more.  
  
“I- I suppose we’ll see-” Blake started, only to be cut off by the sound of her stomach protesting with a low grumble, which caused her eyes to widen and flick downwards in plain embarrassment, her cheeks gaining a light pink tinge as she tried to pretend her stomach hadn’t just growled while staking out an illegal Dust trade.  
  
“Oh, right,” Samael said, reaching into his coat. “You haven’t eaten today, have you?” A gloved hand emerged with the same can of tuna and packets of crackers he’d offered her earlier in the day, miraculously unmarred by their method of transport.  
  
“Here,” The snake Faunus said, proffering the emergency rations. “If we do end up fighting, you ought to at least have _some_ food in you.”  
  
Blake blinked in surprise, glancing at the can and crackers in his hands, wondering where he’d been keeping them, but quickly shaking her head and deciding to not worry about it. Though she didn’t really _want_ to eat right then, it was clear that she probably should.  
  
So, she took the cheap foodstuffs, offered a muted “Thank you,” to the snake man, and started eating as quietly as she could - only very gradually working her way through what was provided as she had to force it all down.  
  
Samael merely nodded, politely looking away as his compatriot ate. As she did so, the snake man scooped his dingy Scroll up from where it had been sitting on the cement beside him, connected to a barebones portable charger, then sighed. Damn thing always took forever to charge. He set it back down, privately hoping that it would charge before nightfall.  
  
Thus, the pair remained there, waiting to see what developments the setting sun would bring.  
  
\---  
  
Spinning his cane, Roman let out a light tune as he jaunted down towards the docks, his ever-so enthusiastic patsy trailing alongside him like some sort of ugly puppy. The redhead had to take a moment to disguise a disgusted shake of his head. The man was still sporting the same cotton candy pink curls with that garish mint green and pink tiger-striped outfit. With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved his Scroll, his mouth pulling into a small smirk at the sight of the message from his actual associate, confirming the success of their operation.  
  
As they neared the docks, he gave a dramatic flair, and declared, “Here we are, the site of where our goods will arrive.”  
  
“Then that means your ‘distraction’ has gone according to plan, my good man?” Alcibia asked as he ran his fingers through his distinctive ringlets with a self-satisfied grin. “Who is the ‘tool’ whom’st the capture of would invoke a significant police response, anyhow?”  
  
“Oh, just some stuffy so-and-so, you know how the police get up in arms for them. Don’t worry those delicate cheeks of yours, my fuzzy little man-peach,” the thief answered, doing his level best to butter the sucker up. Besides, there was no need to bring any conflicts of interest into the matter.  
  
“Ah, I see, a fan of _denial play_ I see,” the pink-tressed fuck boy chuckled under his breath before letting out a long, contented sigh. “Very well, I shan’t deny you your idle pleasures, for what manner of hypocrite would such behaviour make me? Nay, instead I will savour each moment of anticipation for this acquisition of my finest bounty, through which I might beguile my goddess into stepping upon my lithe and graspable figure with her _perfectly formed feet_ ,” Alacibia shuddered and smiled like a loon at the statement, and started chewing on a thumbnail in anticipation.  
  
Roman had to use every bit of his self-control to keep from immediately tearing into the sap, instead, he turned back towards the docks and allowed his face to pull into a disgusted grimace. He was almost wishing that he’d switched places with Neo, if only because he knew that the kid’s old man wasn’t stupid enough to talk about that sort of shit in front of someone who could use it against him.  
  
Strolling over to the gate, he gently knocked on the glass, smiling at the man he had working it. “Hey there, can you let me and my… guest through? Don’t want anyone to think we’re suspicious, loitering out here.” It was so _good_ to have leverage over so many people.  
  
The guard looked between the pair for a moment, focusing on the neon boy toy in particular, primarily in naked disbelief that anyone would ever willingly wear a pink and teal tiger-striped hoodie with cheetah-print yoga pants, but he wasn’t being bribed to judge the attire of these crooks, so…  
  
Quickly enough, the gates rumbled open, and the fellow manning the booth motioned for them both to proceed.  
  
“Thank you, my good man!” Roman said, strutting into docks without looking over his shoulder. The man was still in his pocket and had no plans on looking directly at the smooth brain if he didn’t have to.  
  
It was going to be a long day, but a fruitful one, if everything went as planned. He allowed a wide grin to take hold of his face, he could _practically_ taste the profit.  
  
\---  
  
The rumble of an engine echoing off the walls caused the melee to pause, the loud clattering of something colliding with the sides of the sewer causing all of them to turn to the source.  
  
A bright light shone down from the junction, a motorcycle on one end with its engine letting out wild sounds of it revving up. A large man sat upon it, a bat held loosely in one hand as he stared furiously at the group. Hei “Junior” Xiong’s chest heaved as he revved his motorcycle again, and took off across the water, sparks lifting off the end of his bat as it dragged along the masonry.  
  
[“ _Xiao-Looooooong!”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHQa1SA3EtI&feature=youtu.be)  
  
The formerly fighting group broke apart and dodged around his charge, waves picking up and slapping at the walls as he popped his bike onto its front wheel and swivelled it around, slamming the back wheel down as he glared at his target.  
  
“Whoa dude, calm down, we’re already in the middle of something here!” Mikey, the apparent leader of the Faunus foursome, declared holding one hand up.  
  
Rather than answer, the enraged man took his hand off of his handlebars and grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and vest, tearing them off to reveal a swath of bandages around his abdomen, and a stylized Ursa clawing up his back. Slamming his hand back on the handlebars, he took off again, once more aiming to bash the blonde’s head in, and not caring who got in his way. “I’m gonna kill you, you brat!”  
  
“Oh god, oh god, it’s happening. I can’t believe that the rub-on tattoo and the backless suit are finally going to be of use,” Trent muttered under his breath, reaching up and ripping his own top to reveal his bodysuit, with exception of it lacking a back, and a tattoo of his emblem, a western dragon sitting atop a golden hoard, on his back. All too caught up in the moment to notice his Scroll buzzing in his pocket.  
  
The turtle Faunus shared a look between themselves, and then briefly scrutinized the pair of blondes. They nodded as one as they turned to face this new adversary, they hissed in unison.  
  
“ _Cowabunga it is.”_  
  
\---  
  
The hours stretched on and on, and eventually, Hjøphiël and Weiss found themselves meandering towards the slums at night, strolling closer to the edge of the middle-class residential zone, primarily because that’s where Ruby said she’d be, and he knew that Samael’s mom lived… _somewhere_ within them.  
  
Rows and rows of unremarkable apartment buildings lined either side of the street as the occasional car drifted by, the occasional pedestrian ambling by, paying the two stark-white Atlesian Huntsman-in-training little mind.  
  
“Hjøphiël,” Weiss stated, planting a hand on her hip. “What, exactly, was the plan, again? Because we’ve been walking for hours now and I’m not even entirely sure _why_.”  
  
“We’re trying to find Ruby since we don’t actually know where anyone else is, and despite Trent having told me to use my scroll, _none of those fuckers are responding to my texts_ ,” Hjøphiël declared as he shook his scroll for emphasis-  
  
At which point his scroll buzzed and dinged to alert him to an incoming text.  
  
“Oh, _now_ one of the bastards responds to me!” He started as he moved to open the messenger app. “The cops still caught up with trying to rescue that councilman?”  
  
Weiss lifted her own scroll to glance at the muted but still-playing video feed of the incident, rolling her eyes and sighing. “Yes, they are, meaning we _still_ can’t tell them about Belladonna’s allegiance-”  
  
“Association, Schnee,” Hjøphiël interjected. “If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead a dozen times over. I imagine the situation with her might be more complicated than it seems and why is it taking so fucking long for this damned app to start _ugh_!” he growled and shook his scroll for being a temperamental shit.  
  
“Then why have you been trying to contact the police if you think she’s innocent too?” Weiss accusingly demanded an answer.  
  
“I _don’t_ think she’s innocent, I think that she _might_ be _former_ White Fang member if you repeated exactly what she’d said word-for-word, which still means that she was working with them at some point-”  
  
The app finally loaded, and the only text he’d received was from Samael, displayed on the screen via a group chat with the entire team.  
  
 _“At dcks w/ kali wht fng HELP”_  
  
“Oh shit,” Hjøphiël went pale as he started dancing in place. “Oh shit, oh shit, _oh shit-_ ”  
  
“What!?” Weiss closed distance with the scarved man and stomped her foot. “What’s happening!?”  
  
“Samael’s at the docks, Kali’s there with the White fucking Fang!” the brunet declared as he started to whip his face two-and-fro in a blind panic, seemingly looking for something. “Shit, you were right!”  
  
“I told you!” Weiss proclaimed furiously, there were mercifully no people on the street to witness their scene as the two started shouting. “ _I told you!_ We can’t contact the police for help- we have to stop her!”  
  
Hjøphiël had already started to whip his face about two-and-fro, his eyes harshly settling on a racing motorcycle parked in front of a nice-looking set of apartments. He’d seen that very same model of bike before in Mantle - the kind with a serious security flaw that made them easy to steal. “I have an idea!” he declared as he rushed to the black bike with striking red highlights, kicking his leg over it, withdrawing his multi-tool from his pocket, and jamming the screwdriver full-force into the ignition, which allowed him to unlock the vehicle with no issue. “Get on! Now!” He commanded her as he knocked the kick-stand up with his heel.  
  
Weiss was staring open-mouthed at Hjøphiël, shocked and startled at his actions. “You- what are you, some common thief and scoundrel!?” she demanded, stomping her white boot on the paved road at him. “You cannot just take someone else’s property-”  
  
“Do you want to stop the White Fang, or not!?” Hjøphiël cried out, cutting her off as he furrowed his brow at the young lady. “Look, we’re on goddamn Camuro street!” he pointed at the sign set up at a t-intersection as he kick-started the engine and it roared to life beneath him. “I’ll return it when we’re done! Now get on the damn bike, unless you mean to let the White Fang just do as they will without resistance-!”  
  
That seemed to do the trick, as Weiss was immediately planted on the seat behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist even as she glowered at the larger young man. “ _Let’s put down these rabble-rousing rapscallions,_ ” she practically snarled in defiance of his inquiry.  
  
With a shake of his head, he twisted the handle, and with a roar, the bike kicked off into a wheelie before the front tire was set back on the pavement and the pair screamed down the residential streets towards the docks, a single long side-tail majestically trailing in the wind behind them.


	26. Darkening Skies, Thundering Winds

In the evening gloom of the Vale docks, the numerous bone-white masks of the gathered White Fang members stood out like a beacon of unrest. Two by two they disembarked their Bullheads, spreading out amongst the shipping containers, mass-produced firearms and blades at the ready.  
  
From their vantage point above them, Samael and Blake observed the mob of masked Faunus and prepared to move into position. Before they could, though, a droll voice called out from within the lead airship.  
  
“Come on, pick up the pace! The guards might be bought, but you lot aren’t exactly the most inconspicuous group of mutts.” Down the gangplank, he strode, a devil in white cotton. Roman Torchwick twirled his cane around one wrist as he emerged, calling over his shoulder, “As for you, cotton-candy-catastrophe, get those legs _moving!_ Or do you expect work to get done with your ass in the way?”  
  
“If anyone is discontented with my ass being in the way, well they’re surely welcome to take a firm grasp of it and move it themselves,” Alcibia sauntered into view with a broad smile poking past his barely-concealing hood, a newfound gleaming golden gauntlet affixed to his arm. “Though I imagine that would quickly derail this operation into an entirely different manner of gang-function,” he let out a low, throaty chuckle somewhere between a pleasured groan and a tormented gasp. “The masks are so… _intriguing_ , are they not? To not be able to make out your… _assailant’s_ features - why it sounds like a rather enspirited alternative to using a blindfold…”  
  
The neon-coloured abomination writhed in place like a worm on a hook, rapidly slapping his knees before straightening up and continuing to leer at the incredibly unamused White Fang members.  
  
Blake, meanwhile, was initially shocked into inaction by the appearance of what looked to be one of their classmates from Beacon working with the White Fang, then she was cowed into inaction by sheer disgust and horror at what she was seeing from the neon-coloured mess.  
  
Face screwed up in mortification, Blake almost looked as though she were trying to hide behind the lip of the roof as she openly grimaced in the pinket’s direction - she’d seen him _leering_ at her in history class...!  
  
Samael, for his part, didn’t recognize the young man, having an awful eye for faces, even ones as punchable as the gremlin before them. He was, however, _distinctly_ put off by the cretin’s display.  
  
Roman and the various Faunus shared a look of muted pain. None of them wanted this, they wanted it to end. After a moment, the redhead took a sharp breath and shook his head. “Whatever might be going on in that head of yours, keep it to yourself. I don’t need the help deciding to lynch you. It’d slow things down _way_ too much.” He was _really_ envious of Neo only needing to put up with the kid’s corrupt politician father at the moment now.  
  
As though the criminal mastermind’s words had broken a spell on her, Blake launched herself off the rooftop, Gambol Shroud already in her hands as her porcelain-white mask was practically torn from the pouch she’d kept it in, secured to her face before Samael could even perceive the motion.  
  
No utterance of a plan, no declarations to Samael to follow her lead - Blake just slammed her terrorist mask on and leapt from the rooftop towards the gathered White Fang members.  
  
 _“Fuck!”_ snarled the snake Faunus, tearing his Scroll from his pocket and tapping out a crude text to his team before leaping off the building after his compatriot, his weapon filling his right hand as he plummeted.  
  
“What are you all doing!?” Blake cried out the instant she touched the ground in a graceful three-point landing, rapidly rising to her feet and falling into a readied stance even as Samael landed right behind her. “Why are you cooperating with a human criminal!? To what end does this serve the White Fang? How does aiding and abetting a human criminal make _any_ Faunus life better!?” the ravenette cried out even as everyone went stock-still at her sudden appearance, all eyes whipping around to settle on her with open and significant surprise.  
  
Roman looked between the newly arrived young woman, and then looked to the other members of the Fang and groaned, “Okay, who thought it would be funny to leave one of your more spastic members out of the loop? Put your hand up, we’ll forgive you.”  
  
“I don’t think I’ll _ever_ be able to forgive the cretin that tried to keep such a _shapely_ pair of hips a secret from me!” Alcibia declared with a wide, toothy grin as he openly leered at the masked girl who’d descended from on high like a lithe, avenging angel.  
  
Blake, meanwhile, in the following and increasingly tense silence, only _just_ realized that she’d barged into the situation without a second of thought, without a plan, purely because she’d lost her temper.  
  
Worse yet, Samael had _followed_ her, probably assuming that she had any idea what she was doing. She so desperately wanted to turn tail and run right then and there, but the White Fang might actually be able to keep up with her...  
  
That silence was abruptly broken by the sharp sound of metal scraping on metal as Desolation Amaterasu’s blade sprouted from its hilt to its full, odachi length and Samael rested it on his shoulder. All eyes were drawn to the lithe, confident-looking man, who seemed to consider his words for a moment, then spoke.  
  
“Terrorism’s for losers.”  
  
There was a moment of open confusion from both Roman and Alcibia, prompted by every present member of the White Fang setting down the crates of Dust they’d been hauling into their bullhead and squaring up against Blake and Samael.  
  
“You abandoned the Fang, Panthera,” a woman’s voice was projected from behind a white bear mask with intricately painted red lines, black lenses focused entirely on Blake.  
  
“After everything we fought for, after all the faith we’d put in you,” another with an insectoid mask complete with mandibles. “Still, you show your true colours…”  
  
“Race traitor!” the smallest member wearing a snarling ape mask brandished a set of hook swords, looking ready to charge and attack at a moment’s notice.  
  
Blake was _really_ regretting her impulsiveness now, as they were _very_ outnumbered and unwelcome; she really, _really_ didn’t know what she was thinking leaping into the fire like that, and now she and Samael were about to suffer for her impulsiveness.  
  
Letting out a huff, Roman rolled his eyes as he declared, “I see that you lot have some sort of history with this one… but who’s the guy dressed like he walked out from under an Unchained pulpit?”  
  
Everyone seemed to only then notice Samael at once, sharing confused glances with shrugs between them before Alcibia piped up. “I do believe that I share a Home Economics class with that slender figure, my good man,” the hooded young man noted as he idly played with a long, curled tress that had popped out of his cowl. “I do wonder; are your scales of the smooth and dry variety, or the slimy kind? While I can work with either, I must admit that I’ve developed a few… _ideas_ for the latter, my gentle One-Eyed Snake,” he grinned and winked once at Samael, presenting his scroll as he did so. “Why don’t you consider taking yours and sending me a message or two? I’d hardly mind to check my PM’s to find that you’ve _slithered in_.”  
  
Samael’s reply came in the form of a grand, burning sphere of dark Dustflame, as with dead eyes and an even deader voice he intoned, “ _Cruel Sun_.”  
  
Alcibia’s knees bent backwards at a full-on ninety-degree angle, the dark fire soaring harmlessly over him before the unexpectedly fluid and agile man snapped back up to his full standing position, his feet not having moved at all and struck a pose, making flamboyant finger-gun gestures at the man as he popped up on one foot, arching his back and smiling widely at the dark figure. “I see this danger noodle’s fangs are _venomous_ , then,” he drawled out with entirely too much amusement and glee.  
  
“My greatest crime is not having killed you,” Roman grumbled at the neon fiend, pain wracking his body at what he’d just been forced to listen to. “I wish I hadn’t committed it.” Seeing that none of the Fang members had moved, he roared, “Well, get to killing these intruders, you mangy lot!”  
  
The very instant he finished, a giant shuriken with chainsaw blades went flying towards Blake and Samael, screaming as it left a black plume in its wake. “For the Fang!” was cried out even as Blake deftly leapt into the air, and used the flying weapon as a stepping stone to double-jump and ready herself for battle. Samael, meanwhile, had produced another Dust crystal from his coat and pressed it to his chest, black Aura priming the yellow stone for activation.  
  
“ _For the Fang!_ ” a chorus cried out before the sounds of war were-  
  
Rather harshly cut off by the rapidly approaching sound of a roaring engine, a scream and a gunshot making everyone’s eyes snap to the entrance of the docks.  
  
A bright headlamp lit the down ramp like a flare, and a motorcycle soared into the area, producing sparks as it hit the ground - though not before a stark white figure gracefully lifted her feet, planted her heels on the seat she’d been mounted upon, and cast herself into the sky from it with a flip that turned her into a veritable blur like snow whipping through a storm.  
  
The bike wobbled, then suddenly spun out - but rather than a comical fuck-up, it was entirely too clearly a deliberate move as the man riding it used the motion to calmly and smoothly step from the machine and come to a halt with a single spinning step, the bike rapidly skidding, hopping, and flipping into the air.  
  
It inexplicably exploded while airborne, punctuating the man drawing a pistol with a twirl and the girl in white primly landing atop her toes alongside him with a slender rapier drawn and pointed at the gathered criminals and assorted ne’er-do-wells, her elegant side-tail settling after majestically swaying from her over-the-top actions.  
  
“By the command and authority of the Atlesian ArmedHK-” Hjøphiël started, only to nearly drop his still-twirling pistol with a choking cry as he realized that upon sighting the White Fang, he’d started to attempt to arrest them, and in do going openly outed himself as a former Atlesian soldier in the process.  
  
The remnants of the flaming bike came to a crashing stop off to the side, producing a second, equally inexplicable explosion as Weiss turned aside to level an empty, pale blue stare at Hjøphiël, her lips drawn into a thin line. “Way to ruin our magnificent entrance, you _dolt_.”  
  
Samael let out a snort. Once a Baka, always a Baka, it would seem.  
  
Tapping his cane on the ground, Roman studied Hjøphiël through narrowed eyes, and a stiletto thin smile crossed his face. Recognition flashed in his gaze as he chortled at the brunet. “Going to call on the Atlesian Army? No, I can tell that’s just a reflex of yours, and considering you’re all the way out here in Vale, with no handler… My, it seems we have a deserter on our hands. How deliciously scandalous.”  
  
Hjøphiël’s skin lost all colour, and his grip on his pistol became all the more clammy, and his pupils constricted into pinpricks at being recognized and outed so quickly.  
  
“ _THAT’S why I recognized your fighting style!_ ” Weiss spun to face Hjøphiël, her delicate brow falling heavily. “That was SpecOps CQC! That’s only taught to _Specialists_! Winter’s used it to disarm me and dismantle Myrtenaster back in Atlas all the-” She stomped towards the taller, white-clad brunet as her nostrils flared and she all but jammed her finger into his cheek. “ _THAT’S WHY YOU DISASSEMBLED WINCHESTER’S WEAPON SO EASILY! I KNEW IT! YOU’RE SPECIAL FORCES-_ ”  
  
Weiss paused for a moment, then transitioned from just shouting to snarling.  
  
“DID FATHER SEND YOU TO ‘KEEP AN EYE ON ME,’ YOU CUR! I AM NOT A CHILD! I DON’T NEED HIS OR ANYONE’S HELP BRINGING HONOUR TO MY FAMILY NAME!”  
  
Hjøphiël just slowly turned to look at Weiss blankly, then back to the White Fang members, she’d just screamed all of that in front of, then back to Weiss.  
  
It took her a moment, but, eventually, she did seem to catch on to the mistake she’d just made herself as her expression went completely blank again. “Oh,” she said as the White Fang members started shifting to face her and Hjøphiël over even Blake and Samael.  
  
It was at that point that Hjøphiël’s eyes caught a particular mask among the crowd, but off to the side, away from the rest, stood Panthera - among the White Fang’s most wanted and one of its most dangerous assassins.  
  
It was _Kali_ wearing that fucking mask.  
  
Weiss, at that point, followed his gaze and her expression twisted into one of horror when she recognized the mask herself, and her teeth produced an audible, highly unpleasant sound as they ground against each other once. “ _I knew it_ ,” she uttered under her breath.  
  
Blake, for her part, now only felt that much stupider upon wondering just _why_ she’d put this cursed mask on so quickly. She had no idea how this situation was going to be salvaged, and could only figure that she should be prepared to run the instant an opening presented itself.  
  
“So, trouble in paradise, huh? I get it, my own partner wanted to be here, but I insisted, and damn if I think she got the better deal,” the criminal kingpin remarked candidly, his mouth pulled into a leer.  
  
“Such melodrama!”Alcibia started, smiling widely as he cupped his own cheek, his golden gauntlets catching the glimmering moonlight beatifically as a light clinking could be heard from them. “A lover’s quarrel, betrayer to one’s creed, a true-blue warrior princess, and amidst it all, a once-in-a-lifetime hottie!” the pinket declared as he reached up, drawing his hood back with a dramatic flourish that quickly shifted into one of his hands grasping the gauntlet on his left forearm, which quickly began to whirr and let out a series of clicks and metallic cries as he drew his hand away with a dramatic swing, a gleaming, golden leaf-shaped blade rapidly forming from the armour and whirring into place with almost imperceptible precision.  
  
“Hey, wait, aren’t you that weirdo from Home Economics-” Weiss started as she recognized Alcibia but was firmly cut off.  
  
“They say that fortune favours the bold,” Alcibia declared as the hilt of the sword expanded even as the blade shrunk, rapidly shifting into a golden spear he proceeded to twirl about himself with a wide, beaming smile, before mid-twirl, he had a gleaming, practically mirrored golden shield and hand, with which he checked his teeth before tossing it into the air- catching a helmet of decidedly Spartan make which quickly settled on his head. “And _oh my word_ am I feeling _bold!_ ” he declared as he reared back and _howled_ into the night sky, transitioning into a long, raucous laugh like that of a hyena.  
  
“My beautiful Midas Decadence!” Alcibia cried out as he dramatically ran a finger over the lip of his helm’s visor, pointing a finger at Samael. “I believe we do already have a challenger,” the fop all but purred.  
  
In response, Samael gave one final pulse of Aura, and the Lightning Dust pressed to his chest ignited.  
  
 _“Raitei no Sendo.”_ he spat, as arcs of actinic electricity crackled along his body. As the spent crystal _tink_ ed against the ground, Samael exploded forward, a shimmering black blur wreathed in cobalt and trailing a streak of crimson descending upon the decadent deviant.  
  
As the Fang went to pile onto the former soldier, Roman let off a shot from Melodic Cudgel, strolling forward towards the former Atlesian soldier with an annoyed grimace. “You focus on dealing with your fellow mutts, I can handle Animal Control.”  
  
At seeing the man near, Hjøphiël produced his standard-issue folding sword from the back of his hip, deploying it with little aplomb as Weiss turned her own sword to Roman in turn.  
  
Then, an explosion of violence broke out as Alcibia charged at Samael with a scream that was _entirely_ too pleasured, which caused Blake to fling Gambol Shroud into the White Fang members that seemed torn between barrelling at the Schnee heiress and the race traitor, and just like that, there was chaos as Roman continued ambling forwards, a pleasant smile on his face all the while.  
  
“Call it a hunch, but I don’t think Kali’s with the Fang,” Hjøphiël declared. “And I think she could do with some backup!” he suggested pointedly to the little practically albino.  
  
“What!? But-” Weiss looked between Roman and the White Fang members currently being distracted by Blake and growled. “ _You_ are lucky it’s _them_ with whom it is personal!” she declared as she pointed once at Roman, halting as she moved to run past Hjøphiël, giving him an uncertain look before nodding and bolting off to fight the actual terrorists.  
  
Hjøphiël started with a declaration at the dapper redhead, levelling the barrel of the gun at Roman’s chest. “Surrender, and I’ll-”  
  
Only to be cut off by a sudden surge as Roman bolted forth and used the crook of his cane to hook Hjøphiël’s pistol and send it flying, before the two locked edge-on-cane in a mutually familiar counter-stance mirrored on each side.  
  
“You aren’t the only trained Specialist around here, my boy,” Roman chuckled under his breath with a grin, adjusting his footwork to remind Hjøphiël entirely too much of his instructors back in the military academy, producing a nervous sweat from the brunet’s brow.  
  
With a chuckle, Roman made a declaration.  
  
“Here’s where the _fun_ begins!”  
  
And thus chaos did follow.  
  
\---  
  
Once again, Ichabod was clad in his familiar poncho and sombrero. The once colourful patterns could hardly be discerned without any lamplight, but his silhouette was unique and unmistakable. The cloth, with one of its ends thrown over his shoulder, looked almost like a cape that hid his left arm, while the oversized hat was a blatant beacon calling attention to himself.  
  
The man wandered the streets of Vale, his stride confident and face hidden by the headpiece. Keeping away from the lights, no one could look upon it and see the myriad eyes lining its surface, vigilant and ever watchful.  
  
Soon, he found the one he was looking for. Or rather, he was found by him. He stood on the other side of the street, coming out of an alleyway with a half-eaten banana, quickly locking eyes with Ichabod's back.  
  
Good, he'd already gotten his route ready and they were only a couple blocks away from the docks.  
  
Sun hit the ground running, dropping the fruit in his hands. The pursued man calmly trotted to an alleyway only a few meters away from him, running his hand against its walls, eyes rippling into place.  
  
He took a roundabout, serpentine path through the streets, leading the monkey man on, who screamed something he couldn't hear. At some points, the Faunus caught sight of his heels turning a corner, sometimes all he could find were the eyes leading him further and further astray, but he just couldn't catch up, even when he deftly rounded the corners of the streets.  
  
By the time Sun finally got out of the alleyways, looking only the slightest bit winded, Ichabod was already waiting at one of the gates. His eyes narrowed, there was no one in sight, and even the lights were off. That was convenient, far too much for his liking.  
  
An explosion rang out in the distance, further inside the docks. One of his many eyes caught sight of a flash of light and plumes of smoke rising soon after that. He growled in anger at the sudden intrusion.  
  
Sun also looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered and moved forwards. With little option but to proceed anyways, Ichabod leapt on top of the gate before kicking off it and ran towards the stack of containers ahead of him, parallel to the commotion.  
  
It was too late for hesitation, he reminded himself as he drew forth his weapon. It was the absolute proof that he had fought and bled to leave Vacuo and perhaps it was more than that now...or it would be if he hadn't made that blunder months ago.  
  
The thought was expelled from his mind as quickly as it came when Sun also entered the pathway between the rows and rows of containers.  
  
Ichabod closed the eyes on his face as he descended further and further ahead, seeking the snowflake-shaped logo and the tools within which would help secure victory. In his head, words rang out, etched into his mind after countless repetitions. Again and again, they were spoken in the sleepless nights. Again and again, they were uttered as he left the sands behind.  
  
Over and over, ad infinitum.  
  
 _May the blood ignite tonight.  
May the sword be a chrisom of fire and smoke to scorch sin away.  
May the shield be a congregation of ash and obsidian to enshroud me.  
  
Sing a hymn of lamentation,  
Partake in the baptism of flames,  
Begin the pilgrimage beyond the Land of Trepidation and, with the dawn, offer a eulogy to bygone life.  
  
He _found the crest of the Schnee and upon doing so, the man spun on his heel, bringing his weapon around, the shield detached with a shrill mechanical roar, chained teeth cutting through the air.  
  
 _Hearken, I am he who shall sever evil with evil._  
  
Sun rounded the corner, and he was instantly forced to block the screaming contraption that honed onto his neck with his own weapon, forcing him back several feet as metal clashed against metal with a horrid sound before he managed to send it back from whence it came.  
  
Only sheer instinct kicking in was what saved him from taking that one hit head-on, and likely cutting down on most of his Aura.  
  
The figure he'd been chasing after was lit by the shattered moon. Its head was tilted upward, and thus the sombrero, which seemed to obscure his features before, did not cover its face or the light cast upon it.  
  
Sun knew.  
  
 _What had walked out of the alleys was not Ichabod._  
  
\---  
  
The rumble of another motorcycle approaching couldn’t be heard over the cacophony of battle, but it came slamming into the melee anyway, Trent walloping a masked goon over the head with the bat he’d stolen from Junior. Behind the similarly-stolen motorcycle, clutching onto a rope affixed to the rear-end of the vehicle were a trio of the turtle Faunus brothers, surfing on the stomach of another, as his shell dragged on the ground.  
  
Sparks sprayed everywhere as the blond brought the bike to a screeching halt, sliding in and sending the turtle brothers skidding across the ground and careening through people as they whooped and hollered, “Cowabunga dudes!”  
  
Stepping off the bike, Yang punched her fists together as Ember Celica unfolded over them, grinning like a loon.  
  
Rolling his shoulders as he took in the tableau unfolding before them, Trent grunted as he dismounted. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t put my shirt back on.” Spinning the bat in his hands, he hollered, “Let’s get cracking!”  
  
The confident assertion was punctuated by a deafening explosion to the side, with an absolutely gigantic flash of light highlighting an entire _full-length container_ sailing through the skies. Screams echoed through the air before the massive metal box began descending with a thunderous clamour.  
  
Through the thunder and the inky black smoke, a thousand eyes peered out from beyond the darkness of night and the veil of ash - intently gazing out in all directions, they saw both everything and nothing at once, and at that moment, the Beast wearing Ichabod’s clothes _screamed._


	27. The Eyes of the Storm

Sun tumbled across the concrete floor, biting down a yelp of pain. As he spun, the Vacuan man managed to roll into a leap and get on his feet. His weapon came up to block the roaring buzzsaw that tried to slam into it, stopping it only inches away from his face.  
  
"Dude, stop!" He cried out as the teeth slid across the staff, seeming to get closer and closer. He had more to say but shoved the words down his throat after a knee drove into his side and pushed him off.  
  
A crowd had been around when their fight started and the fight took them closer to them. White Fang and some other unrelated people, and everyone had stopped for a moment to stare incredulously at him and the monster that forced him back blow by blow. He couldn't appraise the situation further before the vile thing pushed the assault.  
  
Sun deftly spun his staff, and the blow aimed at its head was blocked with the shield. He brought it back around the other side but the monstrosity had already drawn its blade and carved a trench in the ground, tossing pebbles into his eyes. The man barely dodged the upswing by kicking at its chin with a backflip, separating Ruyi Bang and Jingu Bang at the same time.  
  
The gunchaku spun around his arms, but before he could even let loose the first salvo, the poncho-clad abomination tossed a white crystal to the floor. By the time he had pulled the trigger, there was a massive wall of icicles blocking the buckshot.  
  
Seeing a chance to disengage, Sun turned and ran as fast he could, only to stop when he heard the screams of steel grinding on steel. His eyes widened as he saw a container suspended on a crane come down on top of him. The man dove forward, barely clearing the steel crate which nearly turned him to paste.  
  
Sun crawled to his feet and rested his back on the container, taking heavy breaths. _What the actual fuck happened to Ichabod?_ He'd heard the rumours but there was no way the guy could have gone so far off-  
  
The thought was interrupted when something slammed against the metal box and he felt his Aura drain as the chainsaw's head ground against his neck, he kicked off forward and turned back, seeing the weapon gouging out a large circle across its surface. The second he saw it withdraw inside without finishing the hole, he reconnected his staff and swung upwards with a flourish when the shredded metal was flung towards him.  
  
The beast faced him, hundreds of eyes locked right onto him. A section of eyes where the mouth would be on a person _ripped itself apart,_ letting out blood in rivulets and baring the creature's slavering maw.  
  
The aberration threw back its head and drove a hand into the eyes on the side of its head, dragging its nails across its cheek and letting out a piercing howl as more gore sloughed off its face.  
  
The Vacuan man took a step back, horror clearly written on his face. The monster did not give him time to lapse further into his horror and chose that moment to leap forward to action, extending the handle of its blade to full length.  
  
Sun brought the staff around over his shoulder and used his other hand to raise it on its face. The eye-ridden beast mimed the motion in reverse, the staff clashing with the chainsaw. When the weapons parted, Sun spun the staff in the opposite direction, as did the monster's. Their right knees crashed into each other. Their left soles struck together and pushed them apart. The sweeps and thrusts of their weapons were a mirror to each other. Every attack was met with an equal and contrasting riposte.  
  
He tried to break the stalemate by separating the staff and trapping the polesaw's shaft between the chain of Ruyi Bang. Before he could bring the other nunchuck around in front of its face, the horror slammed its hand into his face.  
  
 _With a fistful of primed Fire Dust crystals._  
  
The very next second he was in the middle of an inferno. The flames burned even through his Aura and he reflexively shut his eyes. The conflagration hurled Sun back, his guns landing beside him with a clatter. The man weakly grabbed one with his tail, and the other with one of his hands while using the other to lift himself up.  
  
 _What the fuck was Ichabod thinking?_ That nearly broke his Aura completely, he couldn't be any better off.  
  
As that thought crossed his mind, he raised himself to a kneeling position and turned to face the blazing holocaust. A dark blot stood in the middle of the firestorm. Unmoving. Unflinching. _Unshaken._  
  
The fabled monster which slaughtered its way out of the desert raised its weapon, clearing away the flames closest to it. As it held the pose, its shield slammed right back down on top of it, connecting perfectly and whirring back to life with a deafening screech.  
  
The smoke and dust and ash around swirled and seemed to take a life all its own, eyes forming across the haze, pupils shrunk to the size of needles, and thick, red veins grew at their edges every second that passed.  
  
They all turned to him.  
  
Sun Wukong faltered under the gaze of The Oasis of Eyes.  
  
\---  
  
Taking a moment to watch the Winter Lantern that was once Ichabod assault the poor surfer-boy, Trent swore under his breath as he lashed out with his pilfered bat, breaking one of the White Fang’s auras and cracking their mask. After hearing a holler, he bent at the waist and allowed Yang to roll over his back, dropping an axe-kick on a thug’s shoulder.  
  
The blond was about to grapple another one of their foes when he was forced to jump in the air, the shelled-turtle Faunus skidding beneath him with a joyous whoop as he slammed into someone’s shins and sent them to the ground. Speaking of the turtle club, they were holding their own quite well, dancing around the gathered thugs and beating on them with slick martial arts style moves while managing to sound like an 80s anti-crime PSA.  
  
A spray of maggots went soaring through the air, and in the background, a hedonistic voice could be heard proclaiming: “Mmmm _yes_ , it is most _exquisite,_ the way they wriggle and _writhe_ within every nook and cranny of the skin, _mmhmhmhmmmmm,_ ” Alcibia writhed where he stood, even with his gleaming, golden and slime-coated shield at the ready. “Oh I’m keeping you, _oh I’m keeping you,_ ” he asserted to the snake Faunus standing in opposition to him.  
  
Samael let out a gagging noise, before igniting his now katana-length sword and growling, “Be it god or demon, I care not. In whosoever or whatsoever name will back me. _Thou. Shalt. Be. PURGED!”_  
  
“Yes, _yes, plunge your venom-soaked sword into my dirty nether regions like the beast I am, punish me as I deserve~!_ ” Alcibia cried as he leapt forward, practically prancing as he bounced on the balls of his feet towards Samael, his shield transmogrifying into a gleaming golden xiphos as he did so with unmarred ecstasy even as his clothes were rendered threadbare by the worms devouring his attire, he transitioned into a front flip and a series of cartwheels. “ _Strip me not just of my 1000 lien hoodie, but of my very dignity as well! Gaze upon me with those disdainful, reptilian eyes!_ ”  
  
With a wordless scream, the snake Faunus charged forth and _exploded_ a wave of flame, wind, and lightning coursing forth as Samael overloaded half a dozen Dust crystals in his pockets at once as he dive-tackled the distressing degenerate.  
  
With an amused and exasperated snort, Trent surged forward while shaking his head at Samael’s gambit (Goodwitch had already threatened to put him across her knee if she caught him doing it), activating his Semblance as he jumped between a pair of sweeping attacks from the White Fang members, twisting around to grab their outstretched limbs. Roaring as he landed and grew back to his original size, he swept them off their feet and threw them into the melee being held by the turtles.  
  
“Y’know, if it weren’t for all the shit that led up to this, I’d call this a great way to cap off a date,” Yang joked blithely as she uppercut someone wearing a Deathstalker mask, an exhilarated grin on her face.  
  
Catching the masked Faunus’s feet as they passed him, Trent let out a grunt as he wrenched them down, slamming the man into the pavement with a cracking sound. “Yang, sweetie, did you not notice the eyeball monster wearing Ichabod’s clothes? Or the weirdo from Home Ec creeping on Samael until he _exploded_?”  
  
“Eh, I figured those were other people’s problems. The weirdo just needs a beating to learn that no means no, and Ichy probably has a good reason to go all monster man, right?” the fiery blonde remarked as grabbed a man by the back of his head and drove it into a nearby lamppost, where he slid down it limply.  
  
Shrinking down beneath a thug’s guard, the former Canadian snapped back to his usual size, spearing their midsection with a headbutt as he surged to his full height. Throwing them at an approaching motley, he retorted, “Even if Ichabod has a reason for going all googly-eye-goo-ball, he’s gonna have a _lot_ of explaining to do, given that it looks like he’s trying to kill that guy.”  
  
Yang made a noise in the back of her throat as she unleashed a hurricane of punches on an encroaching terrorist, each hit letting off a blast of her weapon. “Yeah, that’s uh, that’s not a great look,” she admitted as she pumped her fists, spent shells dropping from Ember Celica as she sheepishly considered her earlier threats against Weiss.  
  
Reading her expression, Trent let out a huff of amusement at her embarrassment, taking a moment to make sure that the turtle squad was okay.  
  
The crew were tearing through the thugs like a well-oiled machine, the quartet bouncing off of each other and between opponents, taking them apart with ease.  
  
Shaking his head, Trent spoke, “Well, when all this is over, why not just try and fucking talk to Schnee? Who knows, maybe she’ll find a way to pry the stick out of her ass.”  
  
The blonde chortled, sweeping a mook’s feet out from under him and giving Trent the opening to do an elbow drop on the stunned foe. “I mean, doesn’t she want Vanta to pull it out?”  
  
“Given how she acted during initiation,” Trent began as he grabbed a pair of their assailants and clapped their skulls together until their Auras broke and were stunned. “I don’t think she’d let him pull out.”  
  
Yang let out a cackle as she caught a punch to the face, reeling back before retorting with a punch of her own.  
  
\---  
  
Sparks soared in all directions, a thousand screams of steel seeming to blend into one as the edge of Hjøphiël’s sword repeatedly met the shaft of Roman’s cane - and vice-versa. For every instant one seemed to take on the offensive, it was merely because another had feinted an opening. Every thrust was harshly rebuked, and every crushing blow to the skull deftly deflected.  
  
Where everyone else on the battlefield was flailing and flinging about with reckless abandon, soaring to-and-fro as those trained to fight Grimm did, Hjøphiël and Roman were practically in the same spot where they’d started - only having drifted back-and-forth depending on who was currently surrendering the attack as a misdirection.  
  
Even grapples and throws from either side were smoothly rolled or slid out of right back into the action, each toss and charge seemingly predicted and braced against - even half-swording, extreme-close-quarters techniques involving grasping the sword by the blade itself were easily matched and countered by Roman despite his use of a hollow metallic rod.  
  
Hjøphiël had never duelled Winter himself, for obvious reasons, but the amount of skill the criminal was displaying was approaching her level - a fact very firmly reinforced by how, this entire time, it was clear to see one thing: Roman was just testing Hjøphiël.  
  
“Boy, oh, boy!” the ginger-haired man proclaimed with an almost mocking Shakespearian cadence as their weapons locked, leaning in against each other, the younger glaring while the elder grinned. “While I gotta compliment you on your skill given how much of tyke you are, it seems to me that you abandoned your post a bit too early to match a dedicated Specialist-”  
  
“I _am_ a Specialist!” Hjøphiël countered, grinding his teeth together as he went over all the CQC forms in his head and tried to find weaknesses to take advantage of.  
  
“See, you say that…” Roman twittered, sliding around the brunet’s guard as he continued to mock him. “But if you were, you wouldn’t be here, in Vale, fighting me and my gaggle of attack dogs. Instead, you’d be in Atlas, defending glorious Atlesian efforts, like assassinating the heads of local White Fang chapters.”  
  
Spinning into a counter, Hjøphiël grimaced as he attempted to press the attack, trying to find any holes in the older man’s defences at all. “I don’t answer to you!” he proclaimed with a snarl.  
  
“Or the Atlesian command structure, apparently,” Torchwick sniped with a small grin, even as he effortlessly parried the younger soldier’s carefully timed and executed assault. “What was it for you, I wonder? Rampant fascism, not your style? Oh, I know! You made eyes at Schnee’s wife! Rumour is, while he’d rather stick it in a bear trap than her again, he still doesn’t take kindly to people eying what’s _his._ ”  
  
Face twisting into a rictus of distaste, Hjøphiël replied as best he could while on the back foot. “I joined out of necessity, and I- I had my reasons for leaving!” he asserted with an uncertain, forced cadence, hating how… close, but still quite far off the mark the figure was, seeing as how it was Winter that was eyeing _him_ , and he felt the need to escape with his life before his Semblance got him killed by Ironwood and CEO Schnee.  
  
“Wait, was I actually close with that one?” the ginger criminal asked gleefully, his eyes lighting up. They only grew brighter as they travelled over to Weiss, and he nearly started clapping his hands giddily. “Oh, you dog! You couldn’t get the mother so you went for the younger model!”  
  
“I-i-i- _she came onto me-!_ ” Wait, no, he was talking about Winter, that made it sound like he was confirming Weiss- Stop talking stop talking stop talking _STOP TALKING_. “Shut up shut upshutup _shutup!_ ” the brunet demanded as he pressed yet harder, trying with the fervour of a dying man to make Roman’s mouth stop moving.  
  
Roman looked like every holiday and his birthday had arrived early even as he easily guarded and deflected each and every strike sent his way. “Oh man, that’s great! I can’t wait to tell my partner about this! We’ve had a betting pool on who would manage to finally warm the waters of the Schnee women!”  
  
“No, it’s not like that- it’s not _her_ ,” Hjøphiël proclaimed of Weiss as he baited a counter-thrust from Roman, and speedily hopped atop his briefly outstretched cane to attempt kicking him in the face - one of Winter’s go-to signature moves from what he’d seen of her personal duels. “It was Winter- _ARGH_!” the white-clad deserter cried as he realized he was only making it so much fucking worse for himself and he was literally going to die if Weiss had caught onto any of this.  
  
The ginger cocked his head out of the way, a sly grin on his face, making him look like a particularly fat cat that had a belly full of canary. “You dog, you! Ploughing Winter’s frozen wastes? To think a whippersnapper like you had it in him!”  
  
Weiss had slid _just_ close enough to hear Winter’s name as she recoiled from a chainsaw shuriken attack, quickly snapping her face around in surprise, as it had been Torchwick that said her name, and he had said it with such unfiltered _glee_. She was quickly dragged back into the fight though and thus was too distracted to pay attention to the rest of the conversation.  
  
“ _She’s not that much older than me-!_ ” Hjøphiël reflexively defended himself against the implication that he was a kid, an accusation he’d gotten entirely too often, what with how early he’d guilt-tripped his way into the military, and only realized he’d, again, dug himself a whole ‘nother layer deeper. “I mean, wait no!” he shouted as he barely avoided having his ankle grabbed by Roman and landed with a spin kick at his heels - an attempt at knocking Torchwick off his feet. “I mean, she’s really pretty, but-” _WHY WAS HE STILL TALKING!?_  
  
“Aw, don’t worry, champ! I’m sure she really likes that part,” Roman chortled heartily as he skipped over the attack and responded by trying to drub the man with his cane. “A younger _boy_ that she can coddle and pamper, gently leading him through all the steps. Ooh, I knew she had the sort of look about her.”  
  
“ _TRENT is the weirdo that uses his Semblance to play into the creepy fetishes of gross older women!_ ” Hjøphiël angrily projected as, over his shoulder, Trent could be seen rapidly shrinking in size to avoid a rocket-hammer-axe blow to the head and following up by growing back into an uppercut. “I snuck out of the country before anything could happen!”  
  
“I guess she never had time to get you into rolepl-” The ginger stopped short at the last declaration, his face screwing up in annoyance as he digested the tidbit. Then, his smile grew, his shoulders shaking as a hyena’s cackle burst from his mouth. “I get it now! She smuggled you out, protecting you from dear ol’Jacky’s wrath! Sacrificing her time with her beloved boy toy for the sake of saving him from the Schnee hit squads.” Roman shook his head sadly as he finished speaking, spinning Melodic Cudgel around in his hand. “Seriously though, _fuck_ the Schnee hit squads, those things are stupid annoying to deal with.”  
  
“ _No!_ She had nothing to do with getting me out! I ran the moment she crossed into my Danger Zone, she didn’t even know I snuck out within twenty minutes of her ordering me to her personal-!” Hjøphiël’s face attempted to collapse in on itself, and he realized that he was spilling so much spaghetti because he had never had someone engage him like this in a fight before, and he _really didn’t know how to handle it_.  
  
Torchwick stopped, his head cocking to the side as a look of realization came over his face. “Kid, I’m sure if you told her that you’re gay, she’d understand. Women generally do.”  
  
Hjøphiël actually froze still, his mouth agape and his face going pale. It took him a solid moment to reboot, and he cried out in an open panic, “I’m not gay! I _love_ women! You’re just- this is a misunderstanding-”  
  
While Vanta was panicking, Roman slid across the distance, Melodic Cudgel snapped out and slammed into the base of the sword, knocking it aside as he drove his fist into the younger man’s face. With a flourish, he relieved his fellow deserter of his weapon and held it aloft in his free hand. Shaking it and making sure that Hjøphiël could see it, he remarked, “Y’know, I always hated these poor excuses for scrap metal. Sure, they’re hard to break, but they’re so _bland.”_ Spinning the sword point down, he drove it into the ground, where it reverberated and wobbled.  
  
Bringing his cane around, the end popped off to reveal a scope, and he fired. There was a singular, metallic ting which cried out like a lone, momentary scream, and the blade crumbled, the hilt falling weakly to the ground.  
  
Torchwick smiled in faux-compassion and remarked, “Try fighting me when you get something with a little more… mmm, _substance._ ”  
  
Rolling back and throwing himself back to his feet with a low growl, Hjøphiël dropped into a hand-to-hand stance, advancing and intending to disarm the bastard in turn - at least do it _properly_ and not like a lazy ass.  
  
Deftly, the brunet parried Torchwick’s almost lazy attempt at a rebuke, signposting that he was now underestimating his younger opponent, Hjøphiël drawing Roman's arm out and driving as much power into forcing his elbow to bend in the wrong direction as he could. The arm bent, not far enough to break, not with the man’s aura unbroken, but his face twisted, annoyance and a bit of pain streaking across it.  
  
Shaking his head, he remarked, “Ya just had to ruin the good thing we had going here, didn’t you, kid?”  
  
It was at that point, that a shipping container thrust itself out of thin air, slamming into Hjøphiël and sliding across the concrete ground with a harsh metallic scream. The brunet deserter disappeared into the ruckus and did not emerge once the crate stopped moving.  
  
Whistling as he swung Melodic Cudgel around, Roman chortled, “Oh, it’ll be a pain to get that back in, but one can never run out of uses for a bottomless pocket dimension.” Squinting at the container, he clicked his tongue.  
  
“I’ll need to get that one back PDQ, Neo _hates_ when her ice cream melts. And finish this up, I’d hate for any more little miscreants to scurry their way in.”  
  
It was at that moment, a storm of swords descended upon the battlefield, rose petals dancing amongst the blades of righteous judgement.  
  
“ _Ichabod!_ ” one voice cried out in horror and anguish.  
  
 _“Sal-u-tations!_ ” another cheerily repeated the canned greeting of a fast food joint’s mascot.  
  
Roman shook his head and lamented, “What is _wrong_ with kids these days?”


	28. Arrested Momentum

The concrete laid shattered and broken. Large craters pockmarked the area where the two fought, separate from the group that had first arrived at the docks. It was an entire world in and of itself, where steel and scattered rock met flame, rapidly melting ice and shards of dust crystals rested upon the ground like sand.  
  
Beaten and battered, Sun was thrown back like a ragdoll, his Aura finally shattering on impact with another metal container with enough strength to dent it. With a groan of pain, he slowly lifted his face to look upon the great beast spoken of in hushed whispers.  
  
He couldn't say he gave his best shot at it, but he fought back where he could. Ferociously unloading shot after shot, strike after strike, but it was all for nothing. A reserve of Aura which seemed inexhaustible, wild, savage attacks going for the throat, eyes layered upon eyes layered upon eyes endlessly.  
  
What could he be called if not a monster? When Sun heard the numerous rumours, he just dismissed them. Everyone who went after him probably got gored by a sandworm or something, everyone needed some dumbass excuse to cover up their fuckups, and knowing Ichabod, it sounded just like him to stumble his way ass backwards into being made out to be the most terrifying thing on that side of Vacuo.  
  
 _It couldn't be_ _all true,_ he thought as the thing wearing the dusty old clothes of his compadre stepped closer to him, blade in one hand and shield held low, _he just needed to talk with him, just talk it out and figure out what happened._  
  
But it wasn't like he'd get that chance, was it?  
  
When the abominable creature stopped in front of him, it raised its blade, fire Dust leaving its vents and igniting. Sun closed his eyes.  
  
Damn it. He didn't even care about why he'd come here in the first place anymore. He just wanted to know what happened to his friend.  
  
 _"Ichabod!"_  
  
A voice cried out in horror and anguish, and the Vacuan man snapped his eyes open to see the weapon's flames snuff themselves out.  
  
Instantly, the monster threw back its shield and blocked the swipe of a scythe aimed directly at its back. Steel ground against steel and for the first time in that night, Sun heard Ichabod's voice, a genuinely pained, near-silent thing that he wouldn't have picked up if not for his slightly keener hearing.  
  
" _No, not you…_ "  
  
Holding the other weapon and still keeping it hooked on one of its teeth was a tiny girl in a red and black dress, looking a lot like a sister from that religion the Calaveras were a sect of. She trembled, with tears in her eyes as she looked upon the beast.  
  
 _It flinched._  
  
As a couple of the eyes upon Ichabod's clothes seemed to fade away, Sun made his choice. Gathering what he could of his strength, he rolled away from the path of the sawblade. The other man tried to reach him but the girl brought her scythe around and with a loud gunshot spun the massive blade in the opposite direction, cutting him off.  
  
\---  
  
Shit.  
  
Shit. Shit. Shit _SHIT! It wasn't supposed to go like this, none of it was supposed to go like this!_  
  
Ichabod slid his weapon across Ruby's, taking a step back and assessing the situation as best he could. He knew everything was going to go tits up the second someone else had been at the docks, but he didn't think that _literally everyone_ would be around.  
  
The tiniest nun shot forward, propelled by a literal shot and Ichabod was forced to dodge and weave just below the razor-sharp edge.  
  
It wasn't supposed to go anywhere like this. He thought he could try and bullshit some excuse, maybe even pretend he wasn't anywhere close if he was fast enough to go back to the dorm, but that wasn't an option now.  
  
Ruby disappeared into a burst of rose petals, forcing him to kneel and put his arm behind his back awkwardly to let the tip of the high calibre polearm slide off of it. Immediately after he was forced to go on the defensive, again and again, the girl speeding around all over the place. She wouldn't ever blindside him with his Semblance, but he couldn't block properly. He couldn't finish off Sun if she kept up the pre-  
  
He was gone. The eyes on the plumes of smoke rising through the skies gave him a perfect vantage point, he could see the entire docks, and even further inland. But Sun was just gone. _Completely._  
  
Ichabod let out a frustrated growl, all the eyes growing over his face and clothes trembling in rage.  
  
 _Back to square one it is._  
  
The girl stopped when he let out a hoarse scream, throwing his entire body back and spasming wildly as his weapon and shield clattered to the floor. Ruby's eyes widened when he bent forward, hands moving into the folds of his poncho.  
  
Before she could even get a word in, he withdrew a trio of Dust Crystals from inside, all shining brilliantly and about to explode. One green, one red and one black.  
  
Wind, Fire and Gravity.  
  
When he slammed the bundle onto the floor, the world exploded into a thick black cloud of smoke.  
  
Ruby was forced back by the sheer force of the explosion, coughing up a storm and looking upon the grand billowing pillar and the hundreds of eyes that seemed to flow out of it.  
  
And so, under cover of dust and ashes, Ichabod fled the scene, _hoping_ that the smokescreen could be enough to stop Ruby's pursuit, not knowing how deep her burning need for answers was.  
  
\---  
  
As the wind picked up, smoke and powdered concrete cleared from where Samael had hurled himself upon Alcibia. In the bottom of a shallow crater (barely more than a pothole, really), a pair of figures struggled against one another, wakizashi clashing with xiphos in a frantic dance of sparks.  
  
Both Huntsmen-in-training were bare-chested, the detonation having shredded both Samael’s multiple trenchcoats and Alcibia’s tiger-stripe hoodie, as well as their respective undershirts. Aside from Samael’s hat, which had been blown to one side, only a single black vambrace had survived Samael’s gambit. Desolation Amaterasu was connected to the small leather cuff by a length of black chain.  
  
The similarities between the combatants stopped at their states of undress, however.  
  
Where Alcibia had an admittedly well-cut physique, Samael was _severely_ emaciated and pale enough that one could see where his veins wrapped tightly around his bones through his skin. His sunken, concave stomach was only slightly disguised by the blackened scales that wrapped around his lower torso and crawled up his back, further emphasizing his prominent ribs. His arms, likewise bone-thin, were riddled with small scars, from burn marks to defensive blade wounds.  
  
Their physical conditions notwithstanding, their demeanours also couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed.  
  
Samael’s ribs stretched his skin as his chest heaved, breaths coming fast and shallow out of strain and anger both, his teeth bared in a rictus of disgust as rage bubbled in the boiling piss of his eyes.  
  
He ignored the tinny beeping of his Scroll, warning him that his Aura was at a critical level. He knew that, of course. He could feel how his soul was straining to keep his starving body on its feet, but he couldn’t afford to worry about that right now. Not while this... _thing_ had its sights set on him.  
  
Alcibia, on the other hand, was panting like a dog in heat and were the lust in his gaze any more prominent, his pupils would’ve been heart-shaped.  
  
"Ohohoho! My, oh my! Talk about an _explosive climax!_ " the greased up degenerate moaned out with a bit of saliva threatening to spill out of his mouth. "And take a look at you, you _finest of specimens,_ I'm already getting so many ideas, with those _ridges_ of yours. I'm also wondering how much I could pool up against that smooth, pale slope of yours!"  
  
Samael let out a full-body shudder at that, the scales on his back rippling in lieu of gooseflesh. He snarled wordlessly, before detaching the chain from his knife and tossing the blade into his other hand. With the visage of a demon, he took a reverse grip on Desolation Amaterasu and let its chain lengthen as he spun it in the hand not occupied by his knife.  
  
His four years of proper Huntsman combat training felt more and more distant even as his eight years of scrapping over mouldy bread came to the fore. No longer was he holding a Huntsman’s weapon; no, all he had at that moment were his coils and his fang.  
  
" _Ooooooh, yes! Look upon me with that oh so intense and passionate stare of yours!_ " Alcibia spread his arms out wide, ignoring how open to an attack he was leaving himself as a sickening ecstasy was etched upon his face. " _Show me all that you are just as I am willing to bare all that I am for you, my beloved compeer!_ "  
  
It was at that moment that Samael’s blackened coils wrapped around Alcibia’s throat and pulled him off his feet even as the Faunus’s crimson fang darted out to bite into his chest. The strike scraped across Aura, but Samael was undeterred, following the stab with a punch to his foe’s face that took him directly to the ground, further cracking the already cratered surface.  
  
"O-oh! You wish to take the initiative, how forward!"  
  
At those stuttering words, the degenerate wrapped his legs around Samael's emaciated waistline as deftly as though they were his arms.  
  
"I wonder if you’ll push until my Aura breaks," he whispered in a deep husky voice even through the fist embedded on his face before he blurred into action.  
  
Alcibia moved the xiphos in his hands to Samael's fist and the ridiculous tool transformed into their gauntlet form in such a way that they locked up the limb. Then he used his free hand to push them up into the air. With a delighted, sensual giggle he locked up the other arm with his other.  
  
As gravity began to take them down, the greasy man let out a pleased squeal as they both moved in a spiralling motion towards the ground. At the very last second before impact, Alcibia _let go_.  
  
Air exploded from the Faunus’ lungs as he slammed into the ground. His vision went white, and he felt his Aura _shatter_. A flash of _terror_ flooded his being as all strength left his limbs.  
  
Suddenly, everything ground to a sudden halt, Alcibia gazing downwards at Samael in naked surprise as if something had only just occurred to him. “Oh, my, I hadn’t actually expected the dance to be so rough as to actually break someone’s Aura…” the pinket’s brow furrowed, and he suddenly looked rather disconcerted as he called back over his shoulder, “Dear Torchwick? Uh, what was the plan for actually placing our dance partners in the danger zone?”  
  
At the question, Roman shifted his attention to notice that Alcibia actually had the snake boy dead-to-rights, and he immediately slapped his own forehead in open aggravation. “Then stop you damned fool, we aren’t here to _kill_ anyone-”  
  
“ _Death to the Schnees!_ ” A frenzied voice came from within the White Fang’s ranks, the terrorists having whipped themselves up into a frenzy for- “ _DEATH TO PANTHERA, THE RACE TRAITOR!_ ” -obvious reasons.  
  
The infamous thief took a deep breath and let out a long, tired sigh as he silently entreated the heavens for patience. _“She doesn’t pay me enough to wrangle you animals…”_ He muttered, massaging his forehead with one hand.  
  
Weiss actually felt a chill run down her spine at the sheer ferocity of the White Fang, her grip on her rapier wavering slightly as she felt all the conditioning Winter had instilled in her melt away in the face of such unhinged anger and hate. Worse yet, Hjøphiël had been disabled, possibly even hurt if his Aura had been broken - the only one defending her was literally one of the most wanted people in Atlas period, an infamous serial killer who had murdered people she knew.  
  
In a single coordinated movement, the Turtle Faunus Quartet swept through a small section of the charging White Fang. While trying to non-lethally deal with them, one of them hollered, “This is totally _not_ tubular! These White Fang geeds are goin’ way harder than they ever did before!”  
  
The silver-haired girl was rapidly backstepping, utterly overwhelmed by how utterly terrifying this was compared to what she’d expected. This was nothing like the Interest Bulletins depicting conflicts with the White Fang, there was nothing quick, clean, or heroic about this! A known terrorist was supporting them, Xiao Long and Blackmore were treating this like a joke, and Obsidian-  
  
Wait, was that creep from Home Economics pressing a sword into his throat- _oh god his life was in danger he was going to die and there was nobody close enough to help him oh no oh no oh no-_  
  
Remotely pulling the trigger on Gambol Shroud, Blake arrested and reversed the extended weapon’s motion mid-travel and the gunblade whipped back around to catch a crocodile Faunus in the back of the head as he charged at a completely overwhelmed and inattentive Weiss. The man’s Aura sparked and shattered at the impact, and Blake had to duck and weave out of the way of an incoming chainsaw swing, leaving behind a Shadow clone to trick her immediate assailant as she repositioned herself to regain the upper hand.  
  
The crocodile man with the rows upon rows of needle-like teeth stumbled and snarled, but didn’t stop, his eyes completely bugged out as he seemed completely blind to the world around him, fixating entirely on the Schnee just out of reach - the person who had caused his people so much pain, so much suffering, the chance to strike back in a way that truly mattered, a chance to hurt Jacques Schnee in a way that he would feel personally.  
  
Just as he’d had to bury a child, so too would the Schnee patriarch.  
  
Weiss’ gaze snapped around to notice the man beelining for her in a blind rage, at which point it was all she could do to scream and fall back as she attempted to scramble away - this wasn’t like fighting Grimm, this was nothing like fighting Grimm, they had faces and voices and feelings and could feel and cry and _there was so much hatred in their eyes-_  
  
Rearing his rocket-assisted pile bunker back, he threw a haymaker at the girl, aiming right for her face. The solid metal spike bounced back off of her Aura, which instantly cracked, and shattered a fraction of a second later.  
  
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Weiss watched the vicious steel point begin to arc towards her face again - this time with no Aura to protect her. Blake hadn’t noticed her peril, Samael was still being held at swordpoint, Blackmore and Xiao Long were far out of reach, Ruby was nowhere in sight, the Polendina girl was just standing there, watching, and-  
  
Nobody was going to save her.  
  
Those words were the last thing that hit Weiss before her mind went blank and it was all she could do to just stare in uncomprehending horror.  
  
Blood splattered the ground around Weiss, fragments of skull and grey matter bouncing off the dirty concrete pavement, her flawless white dress instantly stained a bright crimson.  
  
The White Fang member’s body crumpled to a bloodied heap at Weiss’ feet, her pupils constricted into pinpricks as the report of a gunshot only registered once she’d noticed Hjøphiël standing where the crocodile man had been, pistol raised and eyes as hard as steel.  
  
There was scarcely even a beat before his gun was trained on another White Fang member, and a handful of shots rang out, shattering their Aura and flooring the young woman as she took a bullet to the chest and shoulder.  
  
Weiss blinked.  
  
She looked down, at all the red covering her. Blood. So much blood. Was there really this much blood in a person? How could there be so much blood in a person?  
  
Ah- it had seeped into her dress. This was her favourite skirt, Winter had told her it made her look dignified and regal. She hoped it would wash out easily enough…  
  
There was a sharp retort as a bright light shot into the sky, Roman firing a blast off into the sky to tell the White Fang that they should disperse. Whether or not they listened, was up to them. Weaving through the crush, he passed by the weirdo and the ugly kid he was sexually harassing, and declared, “Well kid, I’m leaving, and I’d recommend running if you don’t want to get arrested. But hey, I hear you have a thing for cuffs, so why not stick around?”  
  
The last part was just wishful thinking. If the pastel-haired chucklefuck got caught, it’d be no skin off his back.  
  
“I draw the line at snuff!” Alcibia cried back as he rapidly disengaged from Samael and bolted in a seemingly random direction. “This was just supposed to be a little harmless fun…!” the bronze-skinned pinket whined even as he jumped a fence and rapidly disappeared into the night, not bothering to crack any jokes or one-liners once Hjøphiël started executing people.  
  
Roman shook his head, using the dark of the night to hide his presence as he slipped his scroll from his pocket to contact Neo, no point in keeping that councilman any longer. That plan was ruined when a torrent of blades slammed into the ground before him bringing him up short. He turned to look at the source, a little redhead who seemed to be directing the weapons. Shaking his head, he huffed as he put on the gas, he had no time for this stupidity.  
  
“By the authority of the Atlas Armed Forces, former Specialist Roman Torchwick, you are under arrest for desertion, grand theft auto, innumerable instances of grand larceny-” Penny proclaimed in an uncomfortably even intone as she very suddenly sprung into action as soon as Roman moved to flee. She, to the shock of anyone paying attention, outright _flew_ after the redhead, continuing to list off a veritable essay of crimes which the smooth criminal had apparently racked up in his years as a petty criminal.  
  
Seeing that the annoying flying object wasn’t going to leave him be, he opened his pocket and let loose a large canister, sending it careening through the sky towards her. When she inevitably cut it open, the fire and wind dust inside was ignited, creating a small sandstorm around her.  
  
Panic arose when it did remarkably little to deter the freckled redhead that continued to casually defy the laws of gravity at him, and the certainty of a chase was made clear.  
  
The redhead cursed under his breath, but kept his cool, realizing that the gnat was an Atlesian sycophant. Reaching into his pocket, he whooped, “Y’know, I forgot to return this to old iron-britches!” As he finished speaking, he sent a tank flying through the air towards her, using her pause to duck into a sewer grate, sacrificing his usual dignity to escape.  
  
It did remarkably little to slow her down, and quickly enough, Penny pursued him into the sewers as the chase was on despite Roman’s best efforts to the contrary.  
  
\---  
  
After his hedonistic harasser fled into the night, Samael scrabbled weakly against the ground, managing to pull himself to his hands and knees before a particularly muscular, if squat, rhino Faunus charged at him, head low and horn aimed to gore him where he knelt.  
  
Blood still running hot after his encounter with Alcibia, Samael acted on instinct, lashing out with his fang as the terrorist barreled towards him.  
  
In the next instant, the scent of iron and shit filled the air as Samael splattered his fellow Faunus’ intestines across the shattered concrete.  
  
As blood splattered his pale skin, Samael _froze_ , dropping to his knees as his eyes grew huge and distant. He was no longer at Vale’s Docks, all of a sudden.  
  
He was back _there_ , in the time before he’d decided to become a Huntsman. The time when the only thing standing between his mother starving to death and her living another day was a knife planted between a homeless man’s ribs.  
  
As he stared at his thin fingers, stained crimson with his own sin, another Faunus, a boar this time, screamed in rage and charged at him as well.  
  
A long black ribbon rapidly formed a garrote around his neck, and he found his forward momentum harshly arrested and completely reversed - the action hadn’t broken his neck, but he rapidly came to wish it had.  
  
Blake, upon seeing blood being spilled, the scent of death pervading her senses again, slipped back into an old mindset - the same mindset which had let her survive the wretched favelas of Kuo Kuana, kept her old teammates alive even into the most dangerous of missions, and sent terrible messages to those that dared to disregard her people’s right to equality. In the midst of those senses flaring to life again, she saw a companion endangered unrightfully.  
  
The boar man’s legs kicked and flailed helplessly from where he dangled, the pressure on his neck immense as the ribbon dug into his neck and kept him suspended from the street lamp illuminating the ground below. He clawed, uselessly and pointlessly at the impossibly strong length of ballistic fabric cutting off his airway, not even able to cry out from the sheer pressure on his esophagus.  
  
Blake didn’t blink, didn’t pause or hesitate as she anchored the ribbon to the ground, securing the man’s fate as she brandished her weaponized sheath at those who attempted to intervene and interrupt her judgement. With inhuman grace and fluidity, she flowed around her opponents like water, ducking, bobbing and weaving as their Auras flared and were rapidly drained.  
  
As the young woman casually committed to acrobatics and athletics which put to shame every other person present, it became increasingly clear why Panthera was a VIP on Atlas’ White Fang hitlist.  
  
Trent and Yang, desperately doing their best to suppress the White Fang non-lethally, and succeeding were growing more and more concerned with how things were escalating out of control. The pair of blondes had moved to using grapples and chokeholds, alongside old-fashioned bludgeoning if worse came to worse, but neither of them lost themselves in the haze of violence.  
  
Swearing to himself, Trent rammed his forehead into the chin of a charging quokka Faunus, his arms busy choking out a pair of captured foes. “This has _really_ escalated quickly!”  
  
“It sure as fuck jumped up a notch!” Yang roared in agreement as she punched a man hard enough to send him careening into a small group of enemies.  
  
They both knew that this needed to end.  
  
Weiss and Samael’s Auras were broken. Hjøë and Kali were fucking killing people, and Ichabod had disappeared with Ruby chasing after him.  
  
Xiao Long let out a growl as she bounced a pair of terrorists’ heads together, not even paying attention because she had to dodge a slash from a halberd wielding woman. “At least Rubes doesn’t have to see this!”  
  
“That’s the sole upside!” Trent agreed as he grabbed the halberd wielder from behind and threw her into a shipping container.  
  
The turtle Faunus had fled from the area, seeing that things were getting entirely too intense for them.  
  
Hjøphiël lined up the sights of his pistol on another terrorist, aiming to drop them until they were either all dead or had finally broken and fled, either/or. Still standing near the blood-soaked Weiss, he moved to pull the trigger-  
  
And the gun was harshly slammed into the ground at his feet right before an unspeakable intense pressure forced him into all fours, like gravity itself was trying to draw him into the planet’s crust and devour him entirely inexplicably-  
  
“ _Enough!_ ” a haughty, almost regal voice commanded the entire dockyard, an order which was followed by every weapon in the field slamming into the ground as if deliberately dropping from their wielder’s hands before they themselves were similarly drawn to nearly kiss the earth against their will.  
  
The distinctive tip-tap of heeled feet rapidly approached, and within a scant few moments, Glynda Goodwitch stepped into sight, her countenance drawn into abject fury and distaste as she beheld the few loose bodies littering the battlefield, her emerald green eyes scanning every combatant present, from HITS to RWBY, and the remaining White Fang members, all of whom she’d forcefully incapacitated using her Semblance.  
  
The sight called to mind subjects prostrating themselves before their queen, and this queen was a furious and vengeful one.  
  
Eventually, Glynda’s gaze settled on Weiss, who was now kneeling where she’d fallen, her legs splayed out beneath her as she ineffectually and uncomfortably absent-mindedly trying to wipe the blood which had soaked into her dress with her bare hand, as though it would suddenly just come off and cease marring her previously flawless appearance.  
  
Her stare lingered on the Schnee heiress, and quickly enough, she’d withdrawn her scroll, and placed a call.  
  
“Headmaster Ozpin. Code Crimson Stain - yes, multiple casualties - White Fang, yes -” she declared as she gazed upon the now-still boar Faunus hanging from the lamppost just a few feet away from Obsidian, the boy clearly just as shellshocked as Schnee. “-Of course, I’ll proceed to the police station myself to bypass the jammed lines - _as soon as the current situation has been dealt with._ ”  
  
She went quiet for a few moments, eventually nodding, seemingly to herself.  
  
“I will hold them all until then. Please treat this as the priority it is, Headmaster.”  
  
With that, she cut the call, returned her scroll to an unseen pocket, and surveyed the battlefield. Her gaze settled on each Huntsman-in-training for a time, and once she’d finished critically examining them while pointedly ignoring the hate-filled snarls and rants the White Fang was directing her way, particularly for forcing them on their hands and knees in front of her, a human.  
  
She finally addressed her students in particular. “I would love to assure you all that the worst of the night has passed, but taking lives as students, getting wrapped up in such unsavoury business…” she reached up and adjusted her glasses, her immense disappointment in all the gathered students palpable. “Expect this to be a very long night indeed.”


	29. Aftershocks

The mess of bloodied clothes, eyes and inert Dust stumbled through the alleyways of Vale. Though he wanted to scream and lash out, he couldn't find his voice or the energy to do that; his throat was hoarse, his feet felt like they were dragging leaden weights and the once countless eyes on his clothes faded away into nothing, the few that remained throbbed and twisted in their sockets, as if they wanted to simultaneously pop out with a disgusting squelching sound and also sink deeper into what surface they were placed at.  
  
It didn't work out, it didn't work out and he was an idiot for thinking it would work out. If it wasn't for how pointless it would have been, Ichabod would have gouged out his eyeballs.  
  
Where to now? Atlas seemed like a fucking mess, he didn't know shit about Mistral. Then again he didn't know shit about Vale either. It could work. It didn't matter either way. He had to leave.  
  
Clutching at his head, he tripped and teetered, almost falling over. He couldn't stop now, he couldn't-  
  
The ground became the sky, everything became a blur, and for an instant, Ichabod understood what being a pair of socks in a drier must have been like as he went spinning. What little wind had remained in his chest was blown clear from his form from the impact, and within a split second, the Vacuan felt a deceptive pressure pinning his arms to the brick pavement by the wrists.  
  
His vision was taken up entirely by the raven-haired figure of Ruby, catching her breath as she stared down at him, eyes swimming with worry and unblinking, as though concerned that blinking would cause him to disappear.  
  
Aside from the girl’s laboured breaths, nothing broke the silence that hung between them. Until after what felt like an eternity, an adorable little jingle consisting of a chorus of yappy dog barks came from somewhere on Ruby’s body - the sound of her scroll ringing.  
  
She didn’t immediately acknowledge it, and in fact, didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so period. However, a distinct beep came from the device - the sound indicating an administrative override forcing the line to open. “Ruby Rose,” came Glynda Goodwitch’s muffled voice from within the folds of Ruby’s cloak. “Are you aware of what your team is currently up to-”  
  
With frantic desperation heretofore unseen from the girl, she scrambled to practically tear the scroll from the holster she kept on her utility belt. “Miss Goodwitch, Ichabod did something really bad and I caught him but I don’t know what to do and I’m scared and he was so scary like something out of a Black Fable there were so many eyes and he was screaming like a Forgotten One they were even on the smoke billowing into the sky I don’t know what to do miss Goodwitch _I don’t know what to do-_ ”  
  
“Professor Port,” Glynda’s voice cut Ruby off harshly before rapidly and exponentially softening to an almost motherly tone, “will be on his way shortly, Miss Rose. Simply keep Sable where he is. Understood?”  
  
Ruby attempted to gulp down her anxiety and made an effort to speak past the lump in her throat. “Y-yes, miss Goodwitch.”  
  
“Remain on guard, help is on the way, Rose.” With that, the line was cut, and Ruby was allowed a moment to realize that while she was still straddling Ichabod, she had taken both hands off of his wrists to clutch at her scroll like a preservation device.  
  
The Vacuan wasn't resisting anymore though. Instead of attempting to escape, he only averted his gaze, looking at a wall with a glassy expression and his mouth slightly agape.  
  
 _He had already ruined a lot, but he just kept making things worse._  
  
Several moments passed in unpleasant silence, and eventually, Ruby’s body drooped and she stared at the discarded weapon she’d rebuilt for Ichabod over six months prior - not that long before he’d stopped interacting with her altogether.  
  
“...Why?”  
  
Her question came in a barely audible whisper, and it was clear that it related to far more than just this day’s incident. It burned its way into his mind, repeating over and over, layering onto itself like an echo that kept growing louder, and louder, and louder until it was like an anguished, deafening scream.  
  
Ichabod shivered, unable to respond to the question. He couldn't even begin to think how to answer properly.  
  
The silence stretched on uncomfortably long until it was eventually broken with all the grace of a bull elephant. With a heaving huff and a billowing puff, Peter Port rounded the corner into the alleyway, Blowhard slung over one shoulder.  
  
As he jogged and jiggled towards the two students, he wiped a large bead of sweat from his brow and muttered, “Barty was right; I shouldn’t have skipped cardio day.”  
  
As he came to stand beside the duo, he spoke again, “Miss Rose! Are you unharmed?” Without waiting for an answer, he gently nudged the girl aside and grasped Ichabod by the shoulders, firmly but not roughly.  
  
“Up you get now,” Port said, then furrowed his bushy eyebrows as the Vacuan showed precisely as much liveliness as a sack of potatoes, and half the mobility. With a shrug, the rotund professor slung Ichabod over the shoulder that his blunder-axe wasn’t occupying, then turned to Ruby.  
  
“Shall we be off, Miss Rose?”  
  
Ruby had nothing to say, her mind being occupied with unpleasantly dark thoughts and feelings of intense inadequacy. At the end of the day, when she’d finally found the courage to actually speak to Ichabod after so long, what was it she did? Ask if he was okay? Learn of the justification for his actions? No.  
  
It turned out she was far more selfish than that.  
  
Drawing her hood over her head and around her face, she slumped over, weakly picking up Ichabod’s weapon and carrying it along as she followed the portly professor without a word.  
  
\---  
  
Trent and Yang stepped out of the archway leading to Ozpin’s office into the courtyard of Beacon. It had been two days, and only now had the headmaster found the time to call upon the only two members of HITS and RWBY deemed fit or able for debriefing.  
  
“‘Huntsman’s Amnesty…’” Yang repeated the term, seeming to test it on her tongue as she set a finger on her dainty chin and gazed into the azure sky above contemplatively. “Damned lucky that’s apparently a thing, considering Hjøë’s a wanted deserter, nevermind that Kali- _Blake_ turned out to actually be an infamous terrorist.”  
  
The blonde’s violet eyes drifted downwards, settling on a loose stone resting at her feet. With a low grumble, she kicked it, sending the object tumbling away down the paved trail leading to the academy main building.  
  
“Fuckin’ Schnee turning out to be right, gotta apologize to her and everything now, bullshit…”  
  
Trent hummed quietly, considering what they’d learned and the fallout of everything. “Honestly, the interesting thing is Ka- Blake’s actions. Despite being a member of the Fang, she fought to protect Schnee and the others. So, could be she’s trying to turn over a new leaf.” His eyes fell on the kicked stone, and he added, “Besides, at least you can start nudging Ruby and her back together. Hjøë and Ichabod are both in the clink while Sammy’s in the ICU. And even then, I’m only being allowed to visit him _now_.”  
  
“I’m about the last person that should be trying to do any of that delicate touchy-feely bridge-building stuff,” Yang declared past lidded eyes as she crossed her arms under her chest with a huff. “And that’s about the least of my worries right now anyways. People-” the normally fiery girl visibly hit a speed bump and had to take a moment to compose herself before continuing. “People _died_ back there. People were _killed_ back there. Hjøë and K-Bl- _Belladonna_ didn’t even hesitate. What are we supposed to do with that? I’ve never seen someone die before, you know!”  
  
“Welcome to the club, sweetie,” Trent replied tiredly, allowing his shoulders to sag as he reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It was immensely fucked up. K-Belladona strung up a man and filleted anyone who got close while Hjøë was popping heads like it was some shitty videogame. And that’s not even _touching_ whatever the heck was happening with Ichabod. It was fucked up, but we all made it through it alive, and we’re going to have to help put the others back together, whether we like it or not.”  
  
Taking her silence as an answer, the blond grunted, “Fuck it, I’m going to see Samael, make sure he’s doing better. You wanna tag along?”  
  
Eventually, Yang shrugged. “I guess. Couldn’t be worse than going back to the dorm to find Ruby and Weiss continuing to curl up in opposite corners of the room, not responding to anything.”  
  
“Well, let’s discuss how to work on that as we walk,” Trent offered as he shoved his hands in his pockets and started to head towards the medical wing. “You’re Ruby’s older sister, what would you usually do when she got into a funk?”  
  
“I tell her to stop being a sad sack and to try punching me until she’s too frustrated to be sad anymore, at which point we usually wrestle it out. Really _really_ not working now,” Yang answered with a huff. “Looking at me like a kicked puppy, curling up even harder in her cloak like she’s trying to hide from _me_ …”  
  
After a pause to process that, the shorter blond nodded and asked, “Right then, what would your parents do?”  
  
“...Dad would probably bring her a mug of hot cocoa and get Zwei to sing that tune she uses as her ringtone and sit there and do that emotional stuff I don’t really get,” Yang started, her expression becoming strained and unreadable. “Mom would have wrapped her up in her cloak and sung that song about a Beowulf-hunting Saint to her.” The next words out of Yang’s mouth were practically dripping with uncharacteristic venom. “Raven would probably jump out a window and run back to Mistral.”  
  
Deciding not to comment on whoever this Raven person was because that sounded like a loaded idea, Trent spoke, “Well, in that case, I think the best bet would be for you to take a page from your father’s playbook. Bring Ruby some hot chocolate, sit with her, hold her close, and _talk._ At the end of the day, it was a shared experience, so it’s something that both of you can relate to each other through, no matter how difficult it might be.”  
  
“Well unless you can dance and sing on command that still leaves me with only a half a functioning plan…” Yang dryly declared as she cracked her fingers with a long-suffering sigh.  
  
Blinking, the blond let out a weak chuckle. “Well, maybe you could call your father and ask if he can send this Zwei character out here? I can sing and dance, but I doubt that I’m the right person for the job you’re describing.”  
  
Yang went quiet and contemplative for a few moments, tapping her chin as she pondered the suggestion. “I wonder if Dad could actually send Zwei over here…”  
  
“There you go, we’re starting on a solution for how to help Ruby,” Trent declared, smiling slightly as they swept ever closer to the medical wing. “Any ideas for Schnee? Has she said anything that might help you and-or us help her?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
The blond gave a nod of understanding, and sighed, “Well, we’ll work to help her too, even if it does turn out to be an uphill battle. Besides, Ruby’s lucky to have you here for emotional support… Sch-Weiss doesn’t have anyone right now.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure that’s her own fault,” Yang intoned in reply, visibly rankling at the idea of supporting Weiss.  
  
“She definitely hasn’t made it easy for anyone to get close to her,” Trent agreed tiredly, the memories of how the white-haired girl had pushed pretty much everyone away flowing past his mind’s eye. “ _But_ , we can’t just leave her out to dry, not after a situation as fucked up as what happened.”  
  
“Just had to go and get a guy splattered all over her,” Yang started, grumbling under her breath indignantly. “Gotta be sympathetic and shit to the racist…”  
  
\---  
  
"-do you finally, _finally_ get why the entirety of the staff is rightfully furious with you, young man!?" the balding doctor next to Samael's bedside yelled, almost frothing at the mouth while swinging his hands wildly, nearly hitting one of the _numerous_ IV drips connected to the Faunus' arms. "Or must I go on for another hour listing off the extensive damages you've inflicted upon yourself with your little stunt?"  
  
The middle-aged man stared at the piss-eyed snake man, who in turn gazed back at the doctor with tired eyes. “No, Doctor Agate, I do believe I get the picture.” The Faunus turned his eyes to the ceiling and mumbled, “Not like I _wanted_ to do this to myself…”  
  
"And, pray tell, _why did this happen if you didn't want for it to happen?_ " The doctor crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Do explain this to me now, I'm sure it's a _riveting_ topic."  
  
“ _Because_ ,” Samael forced through gritted teeth, “I didn’t want my ma to _starve_ for my sake.” He blew out an aggrieved sigh. “Growing up in the slums is hard enough as it is, let alone when you’re a ‘filthy animal’ and your ma’s a ‘race traitor.’”  
  
Doctor Agate brought a hand to one of his temples, the comments clearly giving him pause but not at all dispersing the sheer anger at his patient's condition.  
  
"I suppose," he began, "that particular part of the problem couldn't be dealt with before you joined the academy, however," the man clapped his hands and strained his voice, "you're still going to have to explain why in the _six months_ you've spent in Beacon, not _once_ did we find out about your condition so that we could start working to correct it.  
  
"You are not a 'filthy animal', you are a Huntsman-to-be and a patient who was in _dire_ need of medical attention whose body was held together by Aura and prayers." The doctor concluded. "If we had known of this, we would have helped you, so why are we only finding out about this now?"  
  
Samael made a face like he’d bitten into something sour. After a long pause, he admitted, “...Not used to being able to rely on anyone but me and my ma. Didn’t occur to me to ask for help.”  
  
The middle-aged man sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Next you'll tell me you didn't even sign yourself up for the financial aid programs."  
  
“The _what_ ,” Samael replied, eyes dead and a hollow feeling in his chest.  
  
Doctor Asclepia Agate’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his sockets and he let out a squawk of frustrated disbelief.  
  
"Young man, I am going to drag the headmaster here by the hair and force him to give you a long and thorough explanation of each and every single benefit plan and program available to students of Beacon Academy." He slowly turned to look at Samael and took a long, heavy breath. "But before that, I am going to spend another hour asking you. Each. And. Every. Single problem that you might have but have been too reticent to rely on others for. Am I understood?"  
  
“Yes, sir.” Samael’s words were defeated, downtrodden, and utterly dead in tone.  
  
"Every year, I swear." The man sighed to the heavens and raised his head to look at the ceiling, lamenting the duty he'd taken upon himself consistently to help students who never asked for help. "Every year, there's at least _one_ of you."  
  
Trent and Yang shared a look, having been standing in the background the entire time, not having an opportunity to speak up during the entire conversation. On the upside, Samael and his mom were going to be okay.  
  
\---  
  
Blake stared across the cell, her glimmering golden eyes firmly locked into the deep umbers of Hjøphiël’s, the two seemingly locked in a mutual silent trance, practically swimming in each other’s orbs.  
  
However, this was only what appeared to be happening on the surface - it was, in fact, far more complex than that, the minute twitches and motions that went unnoticed were a testament to the utter, absolute tension which could be cut with a knife, and-  
  
“She’s still staring at us, isn’t she?” the raven-haired catgirl inquired from her seat in an absolute deadpan, focusing entirely on her cellmate only because there was nothing else to focus on besides _her_.  
  
“I’d really rather not be the one to check,” the brunet deserter tiredly answered, returning the catgirl terrorist’s stare for the exact same reason.  
  
“I’m _surveillance_ ready…” Penny cheerfully chirped to herself from where her face was pressed into the viewing port of the two criminal’s mutual cell door in the Grimm Holding Area of Beacon, doing her absolute best to keep an eye on the VIPs to make up for losing Specialist Torchwick.  
  
“You’ve noticed that her eyes almost seem to glow in the dark too, right?” Hjøphiël asked his cellmate in a defeated tone.  
  
“Oh no, I convinced myself I was dreaming when I saw that…” Blake lowly whined at the Atlesian soldier she’d been locked in a small padded room with overnight, yet somehow was the absolute least of her concerns at the moment.  
  
“ _Nowhere to hide…_ ” Penny dorkily asserted, entirely too proud of how she’d kept both of her targets in clear sight without a single break since she’d started her watch.  
  
General Ironwood was going to be so proud of her once he checked his personal messages and found her report on finding _two_ VIP deserters and a VIP terrorist, and had two of the three in active captivity. That was a statistical and technical success - the best kind of success according to her knowledge!  
  
She hoped she would be praised for her hard work as she continued to stare, unblinkingly, at the two captives as though she was somehow able to focus on the both at once despite each sitting on opposite sides of the cell - a phenomenon which the pair had very much noticed and did not appreciate in the least.  
  
“ _I see you…_ ” Penny sing-songed to the pair.  
  
Blake and Hjøphiël just shuddered in existential terror as Penny’s message to Ironwood was marked as read.  
  
 _General Ironwood is typing..._


	30. The Same Coin

Eventually, the silence became utterly overbearing when combined with Penny’s unsettling ceaseless observation of the two cellmates, and so, despite her typical attitude towards the quiet and social interactions, Blake decided to try engaging the Atlesian deserter in hopes of a distraction from their current situation.  
  
“The sentinel,” the raven-haired catgirl motioned towards the strange ginger girl still staring at them. “She referred to you as a ‘Specialist.’ You seem a little young to hold that rank in Atlas,” she observed from the corner she’d curled up in.  
  
Hjøphiël rolled his head towards Blake ever-so-slightly, his brow rising a mite at the girl suddenly trying to spark a conversation. Well, it wasn’t as though he was doing much beyond laying there on his bunk waiting for _something_ to happen - and he supposed this counted as ‘something’ anyways. “Because I am.”  
  
“Don’t you have to have to have served for at least a half a decade to qualify for that rank?” Blake pressed, latching into the distraction in hopes of forgetting about the peeper, however briefly. “You don’t look any older than the rest of your team.”  
  
“Probably because I’m seventeen, just the same as them,” Hjøphiël said matter-of-factly, continuing to stare at the padded ceiling of their cell.  
  
“...But, that doesn’t add up. Isn’t the minimum age of enlistment fifteen?” The girl asked, her gleaming golden eyes narrowing at the brunet’s nonsensical assertions.  
  
“Normally, yes,” Joe nodded as he lightly drummed his belly with his fingers. “I got in at ten, though.”  
  
Blake blinked, cocked her head in surprise, then narrowed her eyes yet further. “That’s- hold on, that makes no sense. Why would you have been allowed to enlist so early? How were your parents okay with that?” Not to mention how that wasn’t even supposed to be legal in Atlas.  
  
Hjøphiël let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and steeling himself for what was bound to be a fun discussion. “Probably because they didn’t factor into the decision at all.”  
  
That perturbed the girl to no small degree - was exactly was he suggesting there? That he didn’t care about his parent’s opinions? Thinking about her own mother made her cat ears drift backwards. Blake had no illusions as to what her mother would think of her life choices, but if she was still with her, Blake would never have been forced down the path she’d taken in the first place.  
  
In her mind’s eye, Blake saw the Atlesian blowing off his parent’s concerns and wishes for him to not join a would-be fascist army, strutting up to the recruitment office despite their requests for him to reconsider, and enlisting against all reason - why? Did he think that would be cool? Was he some high-born pomp that bought into Atlesian propaganda about Faunus needing to be oppressed ‘for their own good?’ Did he think he was some kind of hero getting into such a line of work?  
  
He’d suggested that he knew the details of faunus work conditions in Dust mines, hadn’t he? Only soldiers and company employees were allowed anywhere near those places - for ‘safety concerns,’ of course.  
  
She felt her shoulders tensing and her nose crinkling. What kind of bastard would just disregard the concerns of his mother- and father? The kind that would choose to work for a glorified military junta and resort to killing oppressed minorities at the drop of a hat, that’s who.  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Blake inquired as no small amount of heat seeped into her voice, and she found herself looming towards the Atlesian, anger building in her chest as she imagined all the ways he could be the worst kind of person. “You don’t care about what your parents think about your decisions? The thought of your mother sick with worry because you chose to become a goon for an organization of violent oppressors doesn’t stir _any_ guilt in you at all?”  
  
 _“You Atlesians are all the same.”_  
  
She didn’t say the words at once, though was prepared to spit them venomously at him when he inevitably presented some garbage about how he wouldn’t be ‘oppressed’ by parents that just wanted what was best for him and defaulted to the most malignant career path he could the moment the opportunity presented itself to him.  
  
“My parents didn’t factor into my decision because my mother died four years prior to that and my father was long gone by the time I was born,” he intoned in response, seemingly more exasperated with her presumptions than anything. “And I enlisted to escape the life of crime I’d been forced to start down just to survive on my own in one of the most inhospitable environments in the world. Thanks for the presumption of my guilt, though. Especially considering I’m pretty sure you were there when everyone else learned that I’m from Mantle.” His face, previously blank, took on a distinct, worn down and tired countenance that was all too familiar to the orphan girl.  
  
Blake recoiled as if struck, her feline ears flattening against her skull as her eyes widened in horror. He wasn’t lying. She could feel it, that low, almost dead resignation in his voice - it was the same one she used whenever she’d talk to Ilia about why she herself had joined the White Fang. And… she’d just _ignored_ that he’d enlisted when he was _ten_ because she got caught up in her righteous indignation, just as she always did. No parent would allow that, no… parent that _cared_ , at least.  
  
And he was right. She _had_ been there when he told everyone that. But, like always, she’d decided that she was angry and he was an acceptable target, so she just… casually forgot that he lived similarly to Samael, once.  
  
What the fuck was wrong with her?  
  
The silence which followed his declaration stretched on, and with each passing second, Blake felt a terrible weight building upon her shoulders.  
  
Eventually, her lips parted gradually, and she managed a hoarse response. “I-I’m sorry. Your mother- she, I didn’t think, I-”  
  
“There’s no need for that,” Hjøphiël asserted before she could finish, waving off her concern with a simple dismissal. “You were White Fang, I was an Atlesian soldier. I get why you’d assume the worst. It’d be weirder if you didn’t, honestly.” He shrugged where he lay, continuing to just gaze upwards listlessly.  
  
“B-but,” Blake continued regardless, guilt already eating away at her terribly. “Y-your mother, I just assumed that you didn’t care about her - I, I’m sor-”  
  
“ _It’s alright_ ,” Hjøphiël asserted again, now with an even more exhausted voice. “In regards to her, at least. I get why you’d freak out, but, frankly… it’s hard to feel very strong about someone you never knew in the first place.”  
  
That struck Blake again, and she felt a fair amount of heat bubbling up in her stomach again at the possible implications of that statement. “W-what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, trying to rein in her temper and not jump to any more conclusions.  
  
Hjøphiël looked uncertain for a few moments, visibly considering something as he did little other than breathe. Eventually, however, he shrugged with a low sigh and answered.  
  
“I have amnesia, starting from a coma when I was about six - no memories of my life before then. From what I gathered, she’d died herself just a few months before that, and I was drifting around the streets of Mantle on my own until, well, the coma.” He clicked his tongue before continuing. “Thanks to that, she’s almost as much a stranger to me as my father is - only _almost_ because I at least managed to gather her name after I came out of that coma. I understand why you think you might’ve hit a sore spot, but… it’s fine. I’m not upset about it, because, as I said, it’s difficult to be attached to someone you’ve never really met.”  
  
It just got worse. How did it just keep getting worse? If that was supposed to make her feel better, Blake couldn’t fathom how. At first, learning that his father had never been there for him or his mother and that he’d lost his mother at a young age on top of that… it hit entirely too close to home in the first place - then, somehow, it got even _worse_.  
  
She, at least, still had her precious memories of her late mother, Kali Belladonna. Of nights spent together in their home learning to read books abandoned in the streets of Kuo Kuana’s favelas, of sharing what little food her mother could afford, of her mother buying their favourite canned peaches on special occasions after saving up, of how her mother, over time, give just a little bit more of the share of food to her. A little bit here, a little bit there… enough, just enough, to eventually…  
  
Blake took a shallow, shuddering breath, making an active effort to recenter herself. Hjøphiël had rolled his head slightly towards her again but didn’t say anything.  
  
After a scarce few minutes, she’d decided that she didn’t want the silence to extend now that she’d put herself in a position to think about such sad things. So, instead, she continued to press Hjøphiël, an Atlesian soldier, just about the last person she’d think she’d find herself empathizing with.  
  
“You,” she started, almost hiccuping before she caught herself and continued. “You said you have amnesia and were in a coma? That’s why you don’t remember her. Do you, do you know what caused it?” she asked, clinging to the most recent statement made.  
  
Of course, it wasn’t that Hjøphiël had amnesia at all - he wasn’t actually Hjøphiël in the first place, not really. But he couldn’t exactly go telling anyone outside of his team that, could he? So, he settled on a simple half-truth. “Starvation,” he answered matter-of-factly. Indeed, Hjøphiël, the original Hjøphiël, had starved to death in the streets of Mantle, and he’d awoken in the child’s body in the aftermath. A hard start to what would reveal itself to be another hard life.  
  
Not that he wasn’t already used to having to struggle for every foot gained, even in his old life on Earth, though. At least he’d been in his element from the word go, right?  
  
“Apparently some gangsters found me curled up on the step to an abandoned building just on the edge of death, recognized me, and rushed me to their boss. They were one of the more, so to say, ‘well to do’ gangs around, so, when I… well, expired on the way over, they turned out to have the means to bring me back because of how shortly I’d been gone. I was hooked up to a bunch of machinery that kept my body alive, given nutrients through an IV and all that. Woke up a few months into that, no memories of my life before then.”  
  
He reached up, tapping his forehead with two fingers for emphasis.  
  
“Their Fixer - er, unlicensed doctor, said that I might have been dead long enough to suffer brain damage, hence the lost memories. Or, at least, that’s what he suggested at the time. Nothing indicating any such damage had shown up when I went through a full physical exam after enlisting a few years later, but that’s the only suggestion I have for it, so…”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“So yeah. Shit happened. Nothing much more to say-”  
  
He’d turned to actually look at Belladonna properly, and found his jaw snapping shut.  
  
The way she was looking at him was… difficult to comprehend. The way her eyes were seemingly strained open as hard as they could be, but her brow was being drawn down and inwards by some incredible force, and the almost impossibly firm line her mouth had become - even her ribbon was pressed flat against her scalp; her faunus ears were hidden underneath it, to his understanding.  
  
The terrorist that had killed so many young men and women just like him with no remorse, no mercy, slicing and gouging and hanging as though it were the most natural thing in the world - she looked positively heartbroken as she stared at him, overwhelmed by a hurricane of emotions.  
  
Idly, Hjøphiël recalled that for as matter-of-fact as his life story was to him, to pretty much everyone else he’d ever met, it was an unquantifiable horror story.  
  
He really had to learn to think about how that shit sounded to other people before he just dropped it like a story about the weather.  
  
“-Look, I get that’s all a lot to take in for most people, but-”  
  
“I at least remember my mom,” Blake cut him off, her voice little more than a strained warble. “My time with her was short, but… those years where she taught me to read, where she sang me lullabies to help me sleep when I had to go to bed hungry… when she told me about how she would make sure I’d grow up to be someone good, someone great…” the golden-eyed ravenette took a long, shuddering breath, rubbing at her eye to clear the budding tears, and locking her eyelids shut as she continued. “Those are the happiest memories I have. Those mean more to me than anything in the world, to know that I got to spend those few years with her, they make living easier.”  
  
She sobbed outright, a few stray tears escaping her eyes despite her attempts to suppress them.  
  
“ _And you’ve been denied even that much, and you suffered the same way she did too._ ”  
  
The young woman actually buried her face in her hands and began to breathe raggedly, fighting to maintain her composure.  
  
Hjøphiël really didn’t know what to think. _Panthera_ was sitting across from him, the terrorist that had killed people he knew, men and women he’d trained with and had been shipped off to serve overseas… she, _her_ , _of all people_ , was crying for him.  
  
It was all he could do to just stare in naked perplexion.  
  
He really didn’t know what to make of this.  
  
“I-I,” Blake continued, the words practically forcing themselves out - he’d told her so much, and it was all so… _familiar_ , she had to at least do as much in kind. “I was a street urchin after I lost my mom too. I had to… to steal, and hurt other people, other kids just to make it through each day. I learned how to sneak, how to move through the environment, become a shadow because of it. And… eventually, I couldn’t keep doing it, keep living like that. Being the exact opposite of what my mother wanted from me. I was ten as well when I joined the White Fang.”  
  
She rubbed at her eyes, trying to dry the tears, but it had hit her so hard, how familiar his story was - how she had assumed the absolute worst of someone that was so familiar to her once she knew his story.  
  
“They were better, back then. When Ghira was leading them. They… they wanted to help people, to make things better. They were reclaiming Kuo Kuana from the gangs that controlled it, doing their best to distribute what wealth they could to feed as many people as possible. I joined then because they were _doing good_ , and I desperately wanted to be someone my mother would… would have actually been proud of.”  
  
“I was actually _proud_ of who I was, during that time. I’d… I’d helped other kids learn how to read, taught them simple math, just like mom had taught me. People… they actually looked up to me. Like I was someone worthwhile, just like she said I’d be. I did it. I’d escaped from that cesspit I’d fallen into when my mom died, I was bringing pride to her name. But, but then…”  
  
She let out a long, shuddering breath, still cupping her hands over her eyes.  
  
“Well, you know what happened after that… what the White Fang became. What _I_ became.”  
  
Hjøphiël had sat up, staring at the girl that started pouring her heart out to him - the girl who was, just a short half year ago, a proper boogie man to him and his fellow soldiers. It… was remarkable how quickly things went from simple to complex.  
  
“You’ve done a lot of messed up things, yeah,” Hjøphiël nodded in acknowledgement of her admittance. “Joined up to something greater, hoping for a better life, and for a time, that’s exactly what you got. Up until the dark side of every organization reared its head, and drew you in, despite your best intentions starting out.” He scratched at his cheek, the budding five o’clock shadow unpleasantly prickling at his fingertips. “You saw what I did back there, once shit got real. I’ve been deployed, assigned to guard those Dust mines and been the faceless oppressor bearing down on Faunus workers, even if all’s I was actually doing was just standing there a lot of the time… and I’ve been there when uprisings have occurred too.”  
  
He looked at his hands, still dirty from his scuffle with Torchwick, and still, he saw the invisible stains beneath the obvious grime.  
  
“My hands ain’t clean. I’ve done things I ain’t proud of too. ‘Just following orders’ was something I never really figured I’d find myself chanting to cope. But… well, that’s life. You hope for the best, and sometimes the world decides to slam your face in the mud and make you wear it for the rest of your life. I… when I ran, it wasn’t to escape my obligations to the military, but, now that I’m out, I can’t honestly say that I’m too torn up about the idea of doing something unambiguously good, instead of working for proto-fascists, even if they are probably the reason I’m not already dead.”  
  
Blake wiped at her eyes one last time, and let her hands settle on the edge of her cot. She was staring at the stark white padded floor at her feet, just blearily blinking past the emotions that had rapidly overwhelmed her so. “Get in wanting the best, get scarred forever for it. I wish I could say that I resisted what the White Fang was becoming, that I was a dissenting voice, but hate… it’s so easy to use, to justify anything. And I, I’m really such a hateful person, at the end of the day. So quick to assume the worst of others, to decide that I know enough to judge them in their entirety…”  
  
She shook her head shamefully.  
  
“And here, all this time, all along, of all the people who I’d ever thought I’d… I’d see so much of myself in, it turned out to be an Atlesian soldier.” A wan smile found purchase on her face, even as she continued to gaze at the ground. “And even still, I find myself agreeing with you - being a Huntsman, protecting everyone from the Grimm, there’s no ambiguity in that, and I’m glad that I at least tried to do something worthwhile, at the end of the day.”  
  
“Yeah, well I never thought I’d find myself empathizing so much with a White Fang terrorist, but then you went and turned out to not be a cackling villain,” Hjøphiël declared, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair as he set his elbows upon his knees and stooped over in his seat. “It was a fair bit easier to hate you when you were just Panthera, the faceless dread assassin, as opposed to the other side of the same coin, you know.”  
  
“Well it was easier to hate you when you were still just a faceless fascist goon,” Blake asserted in turn, not quite looking up to meet his gaze. “But… evidently, things just aren’t that simple on Remnant, and I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a truly horrible curse.”  
  
“A blurse,” Hjøphiël answered with a shrug. “Definitely a blurse.”  
  
“That’s not even a word…” Blake asserted, with a small creeping smile despite herself.  
  
“It _could_ be a word,” was the best Hjøphiël could counter with.  
  
Meanwhile, Penny had continued to observe and listen in on the pair’s conversation - and rapidly, had lost her previous goofy grin. In fact, in its place, she felt a strange pressure in her chest that just felt… strange, unpleasant. It made it difficult to smile, almost made smiling hurt, but not literally. Smiling was supposed to make everything better, though, wasn’t it? That’s what she’d been taught, that a winning smile would brighten anyone’s day, a ray of sunshine to drive away the darkness.  
  
Yet she couldn’t manage it right then, after hearing what she’d heard. In fact, she, more than anything, wished to stop listening to them and just… step away, not think about anything for the time being.  
  
So she did. And her absence in the cell’s viewing port went unnoticed. Penny had never felt like this before, and she didn’t like it, not one bit.  
  
As she curled up against a nearby wall in the brightly-lit holding room, the strange young girl hoped that General Ironwood would arrive soon. Her handler was a nice enough person, but…  
  
The General had always been so much nicer than everyone but her father.  
  
She wasn’t even entirely sure why, but she really, well and truly hoped that General Ironwood would arrive soon.


	31. Earnesty and Truth

Once Doctor Agate had left the room, he took most of the energy with him, leaving Trent, Yang, and Samael in an awkward funk. After a few minutes of letting the silence permeate, Trent moved over and dropped into the seat beside the Faunus’s bed. He took a deep breath, and went to speak, only to stop.  
  
What should he say? His friend had accidentally killed someone in self-defence and was reeling from that. What could he offer that wouldn’t come off as condescending or patronizing?  
  
Taking another moment, he asked, “How are you feeling now, Sam?”  
  
Samael jerked slightly, having been lost in his own little world. Blinking slowly, he fixed his eyes on his teammate and weakly replied, “Like shit.”  
  
After a long pause, he elaborated. “I know it was self-defence. I’d probably be the one dead if I hadn’t done what I did. But…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands and flexing them, as though he could see the bloodstains that had long since been scrubbed away.  
  
“He was still a _person_ , you know?” Samael asked plaintively.  
  
Trent let out a hum as he nodded slowly, “Honestly if you weren’t the least bit upset by that, I’d have been really worried. I don’t think that killing other people should ever be something that comes easy to us, and even though what happened was horrible, I’m glad that you’re made uncomfortable by what happened.”  
  
Samael let out a pained, mirthless chuckle. “Thanks, man.” He shook his head slowly. “I get what you’re saying, but _damn it still hurts._  
  
“I ended someone’s _life_ ,” he gritted out, “terrorist or not, there’s no coming back from that. He’s dead. His family will never see him again, because of what _I_ did.”  
  
Samael seemed to crumple in on himself. “How can I face that? How can I _accept_ that?” His questions were not so much directed at anyone as they were simply choked out into the ether. _“What am I supposed to do!?”_  
  
Trent was about to answer when he heard the door open and close quickly, swivelling around, he noted that Yang had left the room. Holding back from clicking his tongue, the blond sighed.  
  
“I don’t have an answer for you, Sam. I don’t think that there’s anything I can say that would give you the answers or advice you need, not for this.” Looking his friend in the eyes, he let his body lose all the tension that had accumulated in his body. With a slow shake of his head, he spoke, “What I would do, in your place, would be to try and focus on what good I can do because I’m still alive. I would try and make peace with the fact that he was the one who _forced_ that situation, that it was a case of being backed into a corner with no other choice. That’s what I would do in your place.”  
  
Samael choked back a sob. “I...I don’t know if I _can_ , Trent. But...I have to, don’t I?” The question was rhetorical, and the snake Faunus answered it himself. “Otherwise...what did he even die for?”  
  
“I can’t say that I know what you’re going through,” Trent murmured as he reached out and gently put a hand on one of Samael’s worryingly skinny shoulders. “But I’m here for you, whether it’s because you need someone to talk to or to grab some stuff to make your stay more comfortable. Okay?”  
  
 _“Thanks, man.”_ This time, the words were not rueful or offered casually. This time, they rose straight from Samael’s overworked heart and clawed their way out of his tear-choked throat as the snake Faunus reached up and grasped Trent’s hand with bony, weak fingers.  
  
Slowly, carefully, the blond reached around and gently pulled his friend into a hug. “Any time, my guy. Any time.”  
  
\---  
  
In a guest room usually reserved for visiting dignitaries or the staff of other Huntsman Academies with lockdown protocols engaged to turn it into an impenetrable armoured box, Peter Port let out a truly prodigious sigh. Young Sable was well and properly in a wretched state, barely even reacting to even his most jovial and gratuitous camaraderie. It pained him so dearly to see one of his precious students in such an abyssal mood, but he feared that he could not shake him from his despair.  
  
He could only hope that the Headmaster could do what he could not when the man arrived-  
  
A beep from outside the shut blast-doors snapped Peter from his reverie, and he shot to his feet as the Ozpin entered the room.  
  
“Headmaster! To my great shame, I have been unable to-”  
  
“I will handle this going forth, Peter,” Ozpin cut the rotund man off with a single raised hand, gazing well past the elderly figure and staring at the young man on the other side of the room. “You are dismissed.”  
  
Port’s brows furrowed; he’d never seen the usually confident and relaxed headmaster so...so _intense_ before. Nonetheless, he trusted the Headmaster with every fibre of his being, and his being had a _lot_ of fibres, especially around the middle.  
  
Peter gave a dour nod and departed, allowing Ozpin the chance to speak to Ichabod in private as the headmaster of the academy. Quickly enough, it was just the two alone, and Ozpin glid over to the guest room’s control panel and shut the bomb-proof door again.  
  
Taking a deep breath, the headmaster about-faced and marched towards Ichabod where he’d been vegging out on a sofa, pointedly not taking a seat for himself as he crossed his arms behind his back and observed the Vacuan in silence for a few minutes.  
  
When Ozpin finally spoke up, it was in a rather uncharacteristically serious tone. “Ichabod, while I have more than enough world experience to know for a fact that you simply _cannot_ be a Forgotten One based on the simple fact that half of Vale is not a miasmic crater, I feel the need to inform you that without your cooperation, convincing others that you are not an immediate existential danger to the city will be something of a stretch, even for myself.”  
  
He adjusted his glasses right before recrossing his arms and standing as ramrod straight as he had before.  
  
“Needless to say, it would be in your best interests to be cooperative right now, young man.”  
  
Ichabod was fully aware of the headmaster's words. There was no immediately apparent outward reaction from him, but he did listen, and what was said just clattered and tumbled their way down the pit on his stomach to be added to the rest of the pile of anxieties that sat there.  
  
"Where do we begin?" The Vacuan muttered quietly.  
  
“Start by explaining why you were doing your best impression of the Starborn Stalker,” Ozpin suggested. “That’s the description miss Rose ultimately settled on, at least - the beast of a thousand eyes, infamous in Mistral in particular… are you familiar?” he inquired, critically staring at Ichabod with an incredible and heretofore unseen intensity.  
  
The stare affected him little, it was the mention of Ruby that managed to have him wither under the headmaster's words.  
  
"I can't say I'm familiar with that one," Ichabod admitted, falling silent for a single moment to let out a shuddering breath and answer the initial question as bluntly as he could. "Intimidation; by looking like a screaming mass of eyes, people are definitely thrown off balance."  
  
“Indeed - though it was rather remarkably foolhardy of you, considering the general consensus on those creatures that surpass even the Grimm in their infamy and legend,” Ozpin remarked in an even tone. “That young man you were targeting… what about him necessitated such a calamitous assault on your part? Even Vacuo has its myths and loosely understood examples of Forgotten Ones - you had to have known that going to such lengths would only instill murderous terror in all those around you, which is dangerous for a whole host of other reasons, let alone the fact that Grimm are attracted to such emotional outbursts.”  
  
At that last part, Ichabod couldn't help but let out a mirthless laugh.  
  
"You should already know that most Grimm don't even make it a quarter of the way into the desert. I could look out for miles upon miles upon miles and I wouldn't ever see a single one." The Vacuan remarked with a shake of his head. "I _had to_ look the part of a horrifying monster every time I had to fight back then. That was the only way people were willing to turn the other way."  
  
Ozpin’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head lightly. “I know of every well-worn trail in and out of Vacuo, young man. No footpath exists which does not find itself cast in the Grimm’s shadow in at least some capacity. If your current emotional state and the sheer lengths you were driven to when attacking that boy are any indications, you would have doubtlessly been unto a flare to their dark senses.”  
  
Ichabod blinked and turned to look at the older man with a questioning look. "Are you talking about the main roads close along the coasts? I avoided those and went off the beaten path. I couldn't afford to travel anywhere else."  
  
Ozpin’s eyes narrowed heavily, and he asked, “And what stretch of the desert did you actually cross to escape Vacuo, exactly?”  
  
"I couldn't tell you exactly, I was in a daze for a long time." The Vacuan admitted, breaking off his stare and looking off to the side. "I spent so long in the desert, I might have gotten lost along the way. I remember dropping by a few abandoned settlements along the way, but they were all from so long ago they must have been left behind before the Great War. I even remember seeing a hut made of petrified wood, or at least something that looked like it."  
  
Ozpin’s face went completely blank, he cocked his head slightly, and his brow gradually fell. Several moments passed as he seemed to need to just take several moments to process that, and he unclasped his hands from behind his back, instead steepling his fingers together in front of him as he stared warily at Ichabod. “There is only one region of the desert so untouched by roving bands of scavengers that ancient buildings from Vacuo’s verdant past would still be standing, even as ruins. You _did not_ pass through that region, so I would suggest that you be more honest with me for the rest of this conversation, young man.”  
  
" _Yes, I did!_ " Ichabod snapped back at the headmaster's denial. "I mean, I did get attacked by the scavengers at some points of the journey, but I know what I saw! I wouldn't forget a place where I didn't get attacked even _once_ when I went through it. I-!"  
  
The Vacuan bit down on the words for a moment before letting them go with a lot less heat on his voice.  
  
"It was the first place where I could feel at peace _for once._ " He concluded morosely. "No other people trying to skin me alive, no one to hound me, no wildlife trying to kill me… it was just me."  
  
“Then you well and truly did _not_ set foot in that place,” Ozpin asserted, actually starting to sound somewhat annoyed. “Else you’d have been accosted by _him_.” A small shudder ran down the headmaster’s back, and he let out a minute but sharp breath - it was inconspicuous, but for an instant, just an instant, he’d actually seemed shaken.  
  
"Wait, _him?_ " Ichabod turned to look at the headmaster one more time. "I remember meeting someone there, but I chalked it up to me just losing it for a moment that night.” A pause as the Vacuan seemed to consider his words carefully. “...Are you talking about a man wearing a robe of dead leaves and a crown of brambles around his head?"  
  
Instantly, the energy in the room had changed - with a single, sharp intake of air, Ozpin’s features and form had become as taut as a suspension bridge cable, his eyes widened and his pupils contracted to pinpricks. In utter, absolute oppressive silence, he just stared at Ichabod, gazed upon him wordlessly.  
  
It took longer than it should have for Ichabod to recognize the look on the headmaster’s face.  
  
Pure, unfettered horror.  
  
“You should not be alive,” Ozpin said in a low, almost wispy voice that almost seemed to echo the weariness of a thousand lifetimes more than a man his age could have ever known. “You shouldn’t, not after encountering-”  
  
A shuddering breath silently escaped his lips, and he all but whispered the next words from his mouth.  
  
 _“The Withered…”_  
  
The Vacuan took in a sharp breath upon hearing the name. The topic of Forgotten Ones was hardly something that came up in casual conversation, so he only knew only a few things, and the Sand Mother and the Withered were not something he lived without hearing mentioned at least _once._  
  
But it couldn't be that he met the latter. He understood why Headmaster Ozpin was terrified to know he had apparently met him, but it couldn't be him.  
  
There was something in the air that night; it prickled at his senses in a strange way, but somehow, but it had been comforting, in a morbid way. When he sat at that rocky outcropping and that man came into sight and sat at the edge of the fire's light, he couldn't really make out his face, just the details of his clothes and the dried, dead branches that circled his forehead.  
  
The man stared at him at that time, at least it felt like he was, but it didn't bother him. There was nothing of judgement, just someone sitting by, almost like an old friend had come to visit him. The words he left him were full of some sort of understanding, maybe some pity. Long after the ‘man’ left, he allowed himself to actually let tears leave him. That one _knew him_ , in a way no one in Remnant ever did.  
  
 _“Salvation,”_ _he_ had said. Ichabod wasn't sure he found it yet, but he had ended up finally finding his way out of the desert and onto the greener parts of Sanus after that. Could someone that seemed to see right through him and speak unto him the way he did really be the Withered? It hardly made any sense to him.  
  
Ozpin was still staring silently at Ichabod, and after an extended, uncomfortable silence, he very harshly and inelegantly declared, “Y-you have not provided a reason for why you acted as you did towards that faunus, regardless.” The shift in topic was almost violent, so powerful was the whiplash. The headmaster’s discomfort and wish to change the course of the discussion was palpable.  
  
Ichabod sighed and shook his head. Time to move onto the most uncomfortable topic.  
  
"I had to leave Vacuo away from the main roads for a good reason," He began while avoiding his gaze, "you _do_ know that Vacuo's basically ruled by the Cartels, right?"  
  
The silence which followed that statement was far briefer and elicited a simple sigh from Ozpin. “I see. So, you have reason to believe that young man to be a Cartel agent of sorts, then?”  
  
"No, I _know_ he is." Ichabod shook his head and let out a harsh breath. "I'm… I have ties to a Cartel. _Had_ , more like. I never had any choice in the matter, so one good day, I left. They didn't like that."  
  
Nails dug into his skin as he curled up his fists, anger and resignation alike beginning to leak back into him like a pipe had burst open. "That guy's one of their best legbreakers and considering he just busted out of a spot where contraband gets stored in a ship and the first thing he did was to point a gun at my face, I think he's not here _on_ _a fucking lark_."  
  
A sigh escaped him and he brought a hand to his face. "Do I _need_ to get more into this? I'd rather not think about it more. I already have my head full thinking about how I could even begin to deal with this."  
  
“You are going to ‘deal’ with this by relying upon those with greater means than you, young mister Sable,” Ozpin noted, still shaken, but finding his feet again and focusing on the more immediately pressing issue at hand easily enough. “You admit to having dealt with a Cartel during your time in Vacuo, but for anyone who lives in a properly settled city in the desert, that goes without saying. Even if you have crossed moral lines in your time amongst them, Hunter’s Amnesty extends to all who disavow their previous lives and crimes to devote themselves to all people’s betterment and defence against the encroaching Grimm.”  
  
He nodded once.  
  
“Frankly, it will be easier to clear your record and set you on the straight and narrow compared to your Team leader-”  
  
"Excuse me, _what!?_ " Ichabod snapped his gaze at Ozpin hard enough to make the air crack before standing up. "Are you shitting me!? I'm almost sure he's at least related to the Cartel looking for me! He could very well be the one who told them I'm here in the first place! I've _seen_ the guy fight just like that bitch Carmine and no one else knows that damn style!"  
  
Ozpin waited patiently for Ichabod to finish shouting, and after allowing a few moments to pass in silence, he responded matter-of-factly. “Carmine Esclados is a wanted Atlesian deserter who makes extensive usage of the martial arts techniques taught to all Specialist-ranked soldiers like her - which Specialist Hjøphiël Vanta learned at some point before he himself deserted his post on account of complications arising from his Semblance snagging Specialist Winter Schnee in its area-of-effect, as according to what miss Polendina reported from her observation of his duel with former Specialist Torchwick at the docks.”  
  
A lot of the names mentioned slid off his mind as unimportant details. Right in his mind's eye, he was seeing the carefully constructed puzzle he'd made up in his head and saw how one of the pieces had been jammed in forcefully.  
  
 _And the whole picture crumbled._  
  
Ichabod doubled over, grasping at his hair almost strong enough to tear it out, breathing heavily and unevenly, his eyes throbbed and shook at the dawning realization that he had been so far off the mark and so wrapped up in his own sick and frail mind.  
  
A string of curses and profanities left his mouth unbidden as he shook and shakily walked over to the closest wall before launching his fist at it in rage. Aura flared up and stopped him from shattering his hand on impact. As he repeated the motion over and over, slumping on top of the wall as he did, he couldn't escape the fact that he'd legitimately considered so, so many things and entertained the darkest parts of his mind in the throes of his madness.  
  
After a few beats, Ozpin produced a thermos from behind his back, and with a weary sigh, poured coffee first into the cap of the container, then into one of the glasses kept in the room for the usage of guests. “We will both have need of this ambrosia for the lengths to which this discussion will surely extend this night, it seems.”  
  
He took a long sip of his liquid gold before continuing.  
  
“But, to emphasize at least one particular point that must be noted - I feel it would behoove you to actually _communicate_ with your team, mister Sable.”


	32. To Old Friends

The dorm of team RWBY remained quiet and underlit, so minute was the movement from either of the present girls of opposing monochromatic alignments that the lights periodically automatically shut off, casting the two in what short have been a discomforting silence until either had to rise from their stupor to use the washroom.  
  
The hours dragged on and on like that, Ruby curled up in her cloak, using it as a safety blanket of sorts, and Weiss just sat with her knees drawn to her chest in her nightclothes - her typical dress still in the process of being thoroughly dry cleaned to remove any trace of blood from its fibres.  
  
Not that she’d have had the will to properly dress in the morning regardless - she still had a number of alternative outfits she could have changed into, but she simply did not want to do much of anything right then.  
  
She’d momentarily considered trying to contact Winter on her scroll, but she’d quickly decided that making a nuisance out of herself to her eternally busy elder sister wasn’t the way to go, and so instead continued to mire in her own misery.  
  
The two remained like that for the better part of the day, with no idea of what was going on with Blake or Yang, or the boys from HITS either for that matter.  
  
Ruby’s brow creased beneath the brim of her hood - once again, she wondered if she might’ve been stupid to not follow up on the Headmaster’s offer to arrange for her team to speak to counsellors. But, Yang was never the type to want to talk to others about her feelings, Weiss was… visibly didn’t want to engage with anyone at the moment, and Ruby herself just, didn’t want to be more of a bother to anyone than she already had been.  
  
Thus, the two remained like that for far longer than what was comfortable, until an errant thought rammed itself into the little ravenette’s grey matter: the memory of her mother tracking her down to the stump where Saint Silver’s legend had begun in earnest after she’d accidentally broken her great-grandmother’s antique cookie jar, and just… comforted her over her guilt, rather than admonishing her for making a mistake.  
  
 _“Just because you made a mistake doesn’t mean I love you any less, you silly little goose,”_ Summer Rose’s words echoed in Ruby’s mind. _“You’re still the most important little thing in the world to me: and, besides… you know that when something goes wrong, well, what was it your grandpa always used to say?”_  
  
“A real hero makes up for their mistakes, not let them ruin them, Little Shortcake,” Ruby whispered to herself as her eyes began to water and her breath hitched in the dark room, lit only by the small gap between the door and floor letting in the hallway lights.  
  
Summer brought her back home, and they’d spent the rest of the day gluing the jar back together, and there it still sat on top of the counter next to the fridge at home, a symbol of how mistakes could be mended, and there would always be someone willing to help you, if only you let them.  
  
Feeling her chest swell, Ruby let out a hitched cough, kicking her legs out and swinging them over the edge of her bed as she did so. The lights of the room flicked back on at the motion, and Weiss actually jumped from the sudden action and the sound of her team leader’s feet hitting the wood panelling at the foot of their ‘bunkbed.’  
  
“Weiss!” Ruby declared as she spun in place and fixed her gaze on her pale teammate, firmly setting her hands on her hips as she did so. “I- I’m done feeling sorry for myself! I became a Huntress because I wanted to be a hero like my mom, and heroes don’t sit around in the dark when their teammates need them! So…!”  
  
She trailed off, visibly uncertain for a few moments, but then with a surge of willpower, rushed forth and pulled Weiss into a powerful embrace, drawing the snow-haired heiress into her chest, just the same way her mother would’ve held her or Yang whenever they were upset as little girls.  
  
“W-we’re friends! At least, you’re my friend, and if I’m not your friend, then I’ll find a way to get you to let me be your friend! And friends are there for each other, so even if you can’t be there for anyone else right now, I’m here for you, Weiss! I’m- I’m here, and you’re not alone, and we’re gonna get through this and everything’s gonna be alright, okay!”  
  
Weiss just blinked, not quite managing to process what had just happened, until she realized that Ruby was _hugging_ her.  
  
The stuffy young lady’s immediate gut reaction was to push her away, chastise her for invading someone else’s personal space uninvited and demand to know what gave her the right, but…  
  
There was a strange, blossoming feeling in her own chest at the contact, the fervency with which Ruby held onto her, the sheer earnesty behind the act, somehow, Weiss could tell that it was real.  
  
When was the last time she’d been hugged like this? She remembered it clearly: when Winter had left to join the Atlas military. Her elder sister had, for just a moment, stopped being the prim and proper and forever restrained and controlled goddess-like figure she’d always presented herself as, and just hugged her younger sister before she left to serve their country.  
  
Only once before had Weiss remembered being held like that, when she was so small that it was almost too faded to recall - her mother just holding her, back before - _before_. When she still had that spark, even if it was a small, dying one.  
  
As the budding warmth spread throughout Weiss’ chest and into her entire body, rather than do what her instincts immediately demanded, she relaxed, and just let herself be held by her team leader, rather than lash out and tell herself that she didn’t need anyone but herself.  
  
“...Thanks, Ruby,” Weiss uttered in a hoarse voice, indicative of someone who hadn’t hydrated properly for almost an entire day.  
  
Ruby smiled at the simple response that seemed so at odds with the prickly young lady Weiss had presented herself as up to that point. “Any time, partner.”  
  
“Yeah,” Weiss, despite herself, cracked a small smile of her own. “Partner.”  
  
\---  
  
Ozpin sipped at his mug of coffee, and Glynda, as fastidious as ever, sifted through the paperwork she’d gathered which seemed as though it’d be relevant to the immediately pressing issue. The two remained in relative quiet, and in no small part anticipation as, in the distance, they witnessed a high-speed Atlesian military cruiser enter Beacon’s airspace and land at the docks, foretelling their colleague’s previously (if on incredibly short notice) announced arrival.  
  
“He is not going to be pleased with these details, you realize,” Glynda noted off to the side where she stood next to the green-clad headmaster, gently brushing a lock of platinum blonde hair out of her face as her emerald orbs remained locked on the clipboard in her hand.  
  
“Yes, well,” the Headmaster began, coughing into his fist. “I believed that our Hunters and the police would have been able to handle Torchwick. You know that I could hardly tell James of his presence in our Kingdom without the man attempting to send an entire platoon of Specialists after the thief.”  
  
“And given what wound up happening at the sea docks just a few days ago, at this point I can’t reasonably say that such a response wouldn’t have been warranted, if you’ll recall the bisected _tank_ left in his wake,” Glynda declared in utter bemusement as she set her hand on her hip and presented a withering glare to Ozpin. “Not to mention that I reported Torchwick’s presence to you myself under the outward assumption that you would inform James - which is to say that while he will be upset with you shortly, _I_ am upset with you _right now_. What were you thinking, not even at least telling me of your so-called ‘plan?’” She asked him through her nostrils, not even attempting to hide her displeasure with the Headmaster’s conduct.  
  
Clearing his throat, Ozpin surreptitiously adjusted his collar and answered, “I believed that everything was in hand, up until Mister Torchwick revealed his apparent allegiance with the White Fang. Which is something that, I honestly believe, can be considered an oversight anyone would make.”  
  
“Be that as it may,” Glynda tutted with a shake of her head, a motion that necessitated adjusting her glasses. “Roman Torchwick is on his own a VIP threat. His Semblance is _not_ to be taken lightly, if, again, you’ll recall the _tank_ he left in his wake.” She flipped the page on her clipboard and complained under her breath, “Having to use such outdated documentation… honestly, how is this any more secure than a digital copy on a scroll?”  
  
She rapped her acutely polished fingernails on the underside of the particleboard paper holder as she looked over what was noted down on it yet again.  
  
“Specialist Vanta, at least, should be simple enough to handle - Hunter’s Amnesty is a powerful tool, regardless of how much certain figures don’t like it. Though I don’t expect James to simply let that go so easily considering the… _personal_ connection between the two.”  
  
She turned to Ozpin, her nails producing a steady rhythm of taps on the underside of the clipboard.  
  
“Were you aware of _that_ little detail and simply ‘forgot’ to inform myself as well, Headmaster? Or was that particular fact simply something deemed ‘unimportant’ in the grand scheme of things?”  
  
“For your first point: yes, it is more secure to have things written down on paper and stored in a vault or locked filing cabinet, as Scrolls can be hacked,” the headmaster started, composing himself as he prepared to weather the storm of Glynda’s ire. “As for the latter… I only became fully aware when everything erupted on us. I had my suspicions, but no confirmed information. If I were to inform you of what was essentially the closest James got to adopting someone, only for it to turn out not to be true… well, there would be a colossal amount of egg on our faces, no?”  
  
“At the very least, I can give you slack in that regard,” Glynda admitted with a low huff as she started to tap her elevated heel against the hard floor of Ozpin’s office almost anxiously. “I don’t think that _anyone_ would have expected to discover that James went and personally sponsored a _ten-year-old’s_ enlistment into the military… something we’ll need to discuss with him in addition to everything else.”  
  
She flipped the papers again, and sighed, simply completely unsure of how to process some of these developments.  
  
“And miss Polendina… where do we even begin with _her_ …”  
  
“Where to begin, _indeed_ ,” Ozpin agreed, letting out a hum as he leaned forward, steepling his hands in front of his face. “While she certainly defies all previous understanding she is, without a doubt, an amazing development if Atlas is able to _safely_ reproduce the process that created her.” After a few moments, he added, “Although, I do worry about whether or not she’s able to disobey orders, with what she’s proven capable of and what she might be capable of, were that power to be abused…”  
  
“I would rather sincerely _hope_ that James would not have actually considered such a possibility and her-” there was a beat of consideration before Glynda continued. “ _Capabilities_ are more of a coincidence than deliberate intent on his part, but I suppose that’s something which shall be covered shortly, yes?” At that, she smoothed out her skirt, cleared her throat and adjusted the cuffs of her dress shirt. “Given how forthcoming the, gynoid? Homunculus? Given how forthcoming she’s been in response to our questioning, I can only imagine that James intended to inform us of this development at some point, else he’d have thought to instill security measures to withhold such vital information from us.”  
  
“I believe that we can settle for referring to Miss Polendina as a young lady,” the silver-haired headmaster remarked, reaching over and picking up his mug. “And while I do not doubt James, it is the other members of the Atlas Military that I am wary of.”  
  
“Cordovin,” Glynda sighed, more of a statement than a question.  
  
“Among others,” Ozpin nodded sagely.  
  
At that, the pair fell into an anticipatory silence, and after a few minutes, the door to the office swung open, and a tall, broad figure strode in.  
  
Clad head to toe in stark whites, a prim and proper officer’s uniform which was nonetheless rather spartan in its form to the point of being utterly bereft of ornamentation, General James Ironwood marched into the headmaster’s office with a purpose. His smartly trimmed and side-swept jet black locks accentuated by greying sides cut the image of a well-aged but still strong and firm man, which was only further highlighted by his squared-off jawline, light crow’s feet, and sharply defined cheekbones.  
  
Within what seemed like a mere second, Ironwood was standing at attention, his single gloved right hand at rest within the palm of his uncovered left, metaphorically towering over even the practically amazonian Glynda. He seemed to practically fill up the entire room, so broad was his figure, and so commanding was his presence. The general of Atlas’ armed forces stood before his peers, and…  
  
Silence.  
  
He was wordlessly glaring at Ozpin, nostrils flaring noticeably even as his brow, marred only by a single metallic staple over his right eye, indicating some prior injury held shut by the miracles of technology.  
  
The air could almost be cut with a knife, it was so tense. Eventually, however, Ironwood did see fit to break it. “Where do I even begin?” he wondered aloud, his steely eyes focused entirely on the Headmaster. “So many breaches of protocol- of personal _trust_. Tell me, Ozpin, what by the shattered moon were you thinking?” the man demanded in a commanding voice that projected no small amount of betrayal. “I have consistently and more than adequately ensured that documentation and reports of all noteworthy goings-on in and around Atlas find themselves on your desk every month, and I have made every effort to be exemplary in upholding my end of our agreements and objectives - so tell me, please, by what logic could you, in the six months he’s been here, not even do me the bare consideration of informing me that Hjøphiël has been _here_ and not held by the hands of White Fang interrogators!?”  
  
There was a beat, and he cleared his throat.  
  
“Specialist Vanta - I mean, Specialist Vanta.”  
  
Having weathered far worse storms than the tirade that Ironwood had unleashed upon him, Ozpin cleared his throat. “Because, while we had our suspicions as to Mister Vanta’s identity and previous placement within Atlas, certain facts didn’t line up. Such as his age, which is rather _young_ for a Specialist. It would have been a very different situation had we known that you were missing a Specialist by the name of Hjøphiël Vanta, but…” The headmaster let his words hang as he stared up into the General’s eyes.  
  
“Now, would you like a seat or a cup of coffee? I have both in surplus at the moment.”  
  
“I-” Ironwood unclasped his hands to pinch his brow with his bare hand, taking a deep breath before he moved to claim one of the seats set opposite Ozpin’s own. “...Good evening, Glynda,” he added in a highly worn-down tone.  
  
“James,” she acknowledged his greeting in turn.  
  
Ozpin retrieved a spare mug from somewhere within his desk, and carefully poured out a cup for his friend, preparing it exactly as the General liked it. Sliding it across the table to Ironwood, he waited for him to accept the coffee.  
  
James took some time to collect himself, rubbing his eyes and allowing the scent of hot caffeine to fill his lungs, though he didn’t touch the cup of black gold before he refocused on the Headmaster. “Former Specialist Torchwick,” he rather clunkily shifted the topic away from the young man he was apparently more concerned about than he’d like to show. “Specialist Polendina, she reported that Spc. Vanta engaged him at the water docks only two days prior, and when Spc. Vanta was deposed, she pursued him as a priority target, as Spc. Vanta at least demonstrated hostility towards the White Fang despite his presumed status as a deserter.”  
  
Ironwood leaned forward, his brow creasing heavily as he did so.  
  
“I presume that he hasn’t been allowed to elude you entirely, considering the threat level he possesses as an individual, let alone if he’s paired with that theoretical companion of his.”  
  
“The girl who kidnapped Councilman Cleinias, yes, it is presumed that her actions were a deliberate distraction to draw the police forces away from Torchwick’s scheme,” Glynda noted with a nod. “Said plan shouldn’t have worked anywhere near as well as it did, but, well, the Councilman has the police force in his back pocket, so it’s hardly surprising that such a gross misallocation of law enforcement resources would occur in this instance.”  
  
“As _incredibly_ alarming as that is,” Ironwood dryly declared with utter bemusement, “former Spc. Torchwick himself is of more immediate concern. So I ask again, do you at least have an estimate of his current location.”  
  
“Heavens no,” Ozpin answered immediately, shaking his head. “While I’ve tapped a number of assets to return to the city to help deal with him now that he’s escalated to working with the more radical members of the White Fang, the man has gone to ground, and is surprisingly good at hiding, despite his… flamboyance.”  
  
Ironwood just buried his face in his naked hand, slightly shaking his skull in dismay for a few moments before raising his features again. “This would not be an issue if you would at the very least _consider_ the security measures I’d suggested for keeping active eyes on the streets at all times, Ozpin.”  
  
Glynda rolled her eyes, and in a decidedly uncharacteristic motion, let out a long, drawn-out groan at _this_ topic coming up between the two.  
  
“James, while I respect you as a friend and fellow man, I draw the line at turning Vale into a surveillance state,” the silver-haired born again remarked tiredly, reaching up to massage his temples. “And that’s really _not_ a discussion we need to get into, _again,_ at the moment. Now, did anyone else come with you?”  
  
The silver fox stroked his chin with some degree of annoyance but visibly allowed the topic to lay as he nodded once. “Yes, despite the short notice I had to leave on, it seemed prudent to have a trusted compatriot accompany me so that we might cover more ground upon making landfall. She is currently tending to… the other more outstanding issue at hand, apart from Torchwick.”  
  
Glynda’s eyes flicked back to Ironwood, and her delicate lips were drawn into a thin line. “Please tell me it isn’t who we know it is,” she all but begged.  
  
“James, I understand that you were panicked and perhaps not thinking entirely straight…” Ozpin ran his fingers up the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up and off as he rubbed at the corners of his eyes.  
  
Ironwood blinked, looking between the pair with open confusion. “I don’t understand, you both know how hard of a worker and how trustworthy she is-”  
  
Glynda and Ozpin both groaned in perfect sync. “Specialist-”  
  
\---  
  
“-Vanta-”  
  
The scream which filled the cell Blake and Hjøphiël had been occupying could only be described as inhuman, and quickly went from a screech of unquantifiable terror to absolute pain _and_ terror as the brunet deserter slammed the top of his head full-force into the _one_ bare section of the otherwise padded metal-reinforced box the pair called their room for the past day.  
  
As Blake blankly stared on in startled shock, looking down at Hjøphiël as he rolled and writhed in the ground in abject pain and suffering as though he’d been stung by a Deathstalker, clutching the top of his head in pure hurt.  
  
The impossibly elegant woman standing in the now wide-open entryway of the cell just stared at her crying and moaning subordinate as well, her arms crossed and locked primly and properly behind her hourglass figure as her snow-white fringe swept over her sharp, steely grey eye which could only be described as the epitome of feminine authority. Atop her head rested a bun, tied high and tight so as to not impede the motions and actions of a swordswoman and dedicated soldier.  
  
Were it not for the indications of Atlesian livery on her bare-shouldered, flowing uniform which only served to highlight every curve of her inherent and significant femininity, complete with thigh-high boots suspended with straps which created the illusion of a garter belt despite her wearing tightly-fitted white trousers beneath said boots, one could be forgiven for assuming she was simply a glamorous noblewoman, perhaps even a model, and not a decorated career soldier.  
  
Winter Schnee blinked once, and let out a shallow breath from her nostrils as she remarked. “Every time, Spc. Vanta?” no response came from the young man as he continued to whine and cry helplessly on the floor, having injured himself at her appearance, _again_. “...Every time…” Winter noted with resignation.


End file.
